


Trapdoor [Original]

by pondify



Category: Doctor Who, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU, Crossover, F/M, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondify/pseuds/pondify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Amelia Pond first found the hidden door in the ballet girls' dressing room, she had no way of knowing that a world of darkness and fear lay ahead of her. It was a good thing, then, that Amy wasn't easily frightened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes before we get rolling here:
> 
> 1\. I'm only going to do a disclaimer once, since we all know this and I don't want to have to type it at the beginning of every single chapter. I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Doctor Who.
> 
> 2\. My Erik is almost entirely ALW, as portrayed by Ramin Karimloo in the 2011 stage version. The main reason for this is quite simply because he is my favorite version of Erik. I am using his portrayal in basically everything, from the physical - height, eye color (dark brown, not gold), and especially voice - to the emotional - the way Karimloo develops Erik's emotions is unique and not something I've seen in other versions. That said, I do still call him Erik, despite his name never being given in the musical. It's just easier that way.
> 
> 3\. No, this is not a time travel fic. Yes, it is AU. Yes, it will be Amy/Erik. If you don't like it, well, don't read it. You've been warned.
> 
> 4\. I am posting the first six chapters all together, since I already had them uploaded on my fanfiction.net profile, where I go by the pen name Hanonymous. Some of the author's notes in chapters 1-6 may not completely make sense as a result of this.
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy.

_Chapter One_

It all started when Amelia Pond found the hidden door in the ballet girls’ dressing room.

Really, it was an accident. Amelia was the newest member of the corps de ballet, and therefore it was only possible for her to have heard the barest whisper of the ‘Opera Ghost’ in the three days she’d been there. If she had heard such rumors, she had dismissed them as merely stories, and had forgotten them already. So it was no surprise when she found the door and did not realize it for what it was.

It was the end of Amelia’s third day at the Opera Populaire, and the ballet girls were in their large dressing room. Sighing, Amelia gingerly sat on the floor to take off her toe shoes. As she leaned against the wall, she heard a faint _creak,_ and the wall moved ever so slightly, as though she had leaned against a closed door.

Amelia – or Amy, as she was commonly called – immediately stood up again. When she turned to look at the wall behind her, however, there was no evidence of a door there.

“Amy, are you coming?” asked the last girl remaining, a petite brunette named Clara. She stood in the doorway, watching Amy stare at the wall.

“Yeah, I just forgot something,” Amy lied, giving her a quick smile. “Go on ahead, I’ll be right along.”

Clara nodded. “Don’t forget to blow out the lamps,” she reminded her friend before quietly leaving Amy alone in the room.

As soon as Clara’s footsteps had receded, Amy’s hands were skimming over the wall, feeling for ridges that might indicate the outline of a door. Even though it could have been just the wall itself that had creaked, but she wanted to find out for sure.

Once she had a rough approximation of the size of the door, she felt along the wall for a way to open it. Eventually, her fingertips slipped into a shallow, circular groove that was a little too perfectly shaped to be natural. She pushed against it, and with another creak the wall opened up into a pitch-black corridor.

Amy stepped into the corridor, still in her toe shoes. Her heartbeat accelerated as she stood just inside the mouth of the tunnel. All her senses were telling her, _Go back. Close the door and go to bed and forget about it._

She kept walking.

As Amy went deeper into the tunnel, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she had the distinct feeling that something – or someone – was watching her every move. She tried to tell herself that it was just her imagination, that it was just the darkness getting to her. She had never liked the dark much.

She had left the door open, but the light was getting farther and farther behind her. Her uneasiness grew, until every muscle in her body was tense, coiled like a spring.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind her, and she was engulfed in blackness.

Amy stopped dead, eyes wide as she spun around uselessly in the corridor. Had one of her friends come back and closed the door? They wouldn’t do that to her, would they?

Her question was answered a moment later as a voice filled the tunnel, echoing all around her. “You _dare_ to come here? Do you know who I am?”

The voice was a man’s, and while it was threatening, it was rich and melodious. It was undoubtedly the most beautiful voice Amy had ever heard.

“No, I don’t,” she called boldly. “Who are you?”

There was a dangerous silence that seemed to last several minutes, in which Amy’s heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat, could feel the blood rushing in her ears.

“I am the Opera Ghost,” the voice said finally, “or the Phantom of the Opera.”

Amy rolled her eyes, though she doubted the speaker could see her. “Still not ringing a bell, Monsieur le Fantôme.”

Was that a growl? Chills ran up her spine as the Phantom said, “I should kill you for your insolence, child.”

“Well, that’s true,” Amy admitted. “You won’t, though, will you, monsieur?”

The Phantom chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through the tunnel. “And why do you think that?” he asked, sounding amused.

Amy cleared her throat, lifting her chin and saying the first thing that came to her mind. “Even ghosts need friends, don’t they?”

There was silence for so long, she thought perhaps he had gone. As she turned to leave, a leather-gloved hand clamped around the back of her neck, forcing her head to tilt back a little. It hurt, but she managed to hold back a scream; only a small gasp escaped her lips.

“Are you implying that I am _lonely,_ child?” The Phantom’s voice was soft and deceptively calm in Amy’s ear, and she shivered despite herself.

“I might be,” she said.

His fingers tightened just a fraction on her neck. “I would not speak so casually if I were in your position.” He had definitely growled that time.

“Ah, but monsieur, consider this,” Amy said almost cheerfully. “If you were in my position, I would be in yours. And if I were in your position, I would have let you go much sooner.”

The Phantom paused for a long while. Finally, he chuckled again. “What is your name, child?” he asked, and the dangerous edge was gone from his voice, though he did not release her.

“Amelia Pond,” she introduced herself. “Pleased to meet you, Monsieur le Fantôme. I would curtsy, but I find myself unable to at the moment.”

“I shall forgive you for that, Amelia Pond,” he said. “Your insolence, on the other hand…”

Amy attempted to tip her head back more in the hope that it would make her more comfortable, but he merely gripped her tighter, and she whimpered almost inaudibly. “Not still thinking about killing me, hmm?” she joked, but her voice was slightly strained.

“Not just now,” he said, and it might’ve been her imagination, but he sounded almost disappointed.

Amy felt a tug at her bun, and her long red hair fell loose down her back. The Phantom ran his fingers gently through it, and she wondered what on earth he was doing.

“Your hair is lovely, Amelia,” he muttered.

“How can you see it?” she questioned.

He merely laughed, letting her hair fall from his hand. Then his voice grew more commanding as he said, “Do not let me catch you snooping here again, child, or you will not be as fortunate as you have been so far.”

“But what if I wish to speak to you again, Monsieur le Fantôme?”

The Phantom released Amy’s neck, which still throbbed with pain, but instead of stepping away he wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled her close to him.

“I suppose then you would have to disobey me, and then where would we be?” he said, his voice low in her ear.

As Amy began to reply, the Phantom covered her mouth and nose with a sickly sweet-smelling substance. He held it firmly to her face, and she had no choice but to breathe it in.

Amy’s head fell back on his shoulder, her body going limp and her mind clouding. As her consciousness slipped away, she thought she saw something white, floating in the darkness – not a face, something else, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Then her eyes shut, and she knew no more.

~O~

The new ballet girl was very intriguing, the Phantom of the Opera mused as he sat at his organ. She hadn’t seemed intimidated by him at all, even though she had been in a very dangerous position. And, more importantly… she had wanted to be his friend.

The Phantom, otherwise known as Erik, allowed a scowl to settle over his face as he made a notation on the music he was composing. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get the young ballerina off his mind and focus on his music. All the while, one thought was echoing in his mind.

_Can she sing?_

It had not been very long since his Christine had left him for that… that _boy,_ a few years at most. Yet Erik missed her. With every passing day, he missed her.

But now, there was this Amelia Pond, and she was driving him to distraction.

_Can she sing?_

He had not harmed her; a quick assessment of her neck revealed some light bruises, but they would fade quickly. He had left her in a safe place, where she would be found in the morning.

He knew she was a dancer. Her long legs and lithe build proved that. But that lovely, lilting voice – could she make music with that voice?

_Can she sing?_

Erik groaned, pressing his hand to his forehead. He would not become attached to another woman, not so soon after Christine.

But Amelia… ah, Amelia was something else entirely. In his mind’s eye, Erik could still see her: her uncommonly pale skin, her long ginger hair, and her wide hazel eyes. Though she didn’t hold a candle to Christine, he couldn’t deny that she was a unique beauty.

She could be his next student, if she could indeed sing. And if not, the very least Erik could do was watch over her.

He would not make the same mistakes he made with Christine. He would wait, and he would watch.

 _Perhaps,_ Erik thought, _perhaps it would not be so bad to have a friend._


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

"Amy? Amy!"

Amy awoke to someone calling her name. She opened her eyes groggily, and a face came into focus above her. It was Clara, her brow knitted with anxiety.

"Amy, are you okay?" she gasped.

"I'm fine," Amy said, sitting up slowly. "Well, other than a headache." The back of her neck was painful as well, but she didn't mention that.

Clara looked even more concerned. "Amy, do you know where you are?" she asked.

Frowning, Amy looked around. She was not in her bed, as she had thought; rather, she was on the stage, still in her leotard and toe shoes, with her hair unbound over her shoulders.

"How did I get here…?" she mumbled, running her fingers through her hair.

Instead of answering, Clara stood and called over shoulder, "Madame Giry! Madame Giry, I found her!"

A tall, severe-looking woman dressed in dark clothes – the ballet mistress, Madame Giry – hurried toward them, along with a young woman with long golden curls. "Amelia!" Madame Giry exclaimed as they reached her.

"Have you been looking for me?" Amy said in confusion, looking up at the three women standing around her.

"Everyone has," Meg Giry, the younger woman, said. "We thought you were gone."

Madame Giry held out her hand to help Amy up. "We were all very worried," she said, giving her a scolding look.

"I'm sorry," Amy mumbled. "I don't – I don't quite remember…"

Clara suddenly said, "Amy, what's in your hand?"

"What? Nothing…" The redhead trailed off as she lifted her other hand. Dangling limply from her fingers was a deep red rose in full bloom. She hadn't even realized she was holding it.

The events of the previous night came rushing back to her: finding the secret tunnel, talking to the so-called Phantom of the Opera, and finally falling unconscious as the Phantom covered her face with a cloth.

Madame Giry's frown deepened at the sight of the flower. "Meg, would you and Clara go tell the others that Amelia has been found? She and I will be there shortly."

Meg looked confused, but she knew better than to question her mother. She and Clara left the stage, already calling out to other girls that had been searching.

"This way, my dear." With a firm hand on her shoulder, Madame Giry steered Amy into the wings.

Amy had already decided not to tell anyone about her encounter with the Opera Ghost, So as Madame Giry pulled her into the shadows, she was already fabricating a story.

"What happened to you, Amelia?" Madame Giry folded her arms.

Amy twirled the rose in her fingers. "I had forgotten something in the dressing room, so I told the others to go ahead without me. As I was leaving, I tripped and must've hit my head. I blacked out, and woke up here." She shrugged. "I suppose one of the stagehands must've found me and carried me out here."

Madame Giry looked unconvinced. "What about the rose?"

Amy smiled, pressing her nose to the soft petals. "Who knows? Perhaps he fancies me," she said mischievously. "May I go now, Madame Giry? I would not want to neglect my dancing."

The ballet mistress narrowed her eyes, then sighed. "Go ahead, Amelia. But be more careful from now on."

"Yes, Madame," Amy said, quickly hurrying to the dressing room.

~O~

Meg Giry gave Amy time to freshen up before practice, so Amy was alone in the dressing room once more. She stood in front of the mirror, drawing her hair to one side and trying to see the back of her neck. It still ached somewhat, but the bruising was minimal, and she guessed it would be altogether gone before long.

Amy pulled her hair into a lower bun than usual, hoping to make her injuries less noticeable to anyone with sharp eyes. As she adjusted her leotard and retied her toe shoes, she hummed softly, then began to sing.

She had never thought much of her own voice. She thought it sounded too much like her speaking voice to be pretty, and was squeaky and unpleasant-sounding. She enjoyed singing, but never in front of others.

Little did she know, Erik was behind the hidden door, listening to her sing.

Amy's voice was clearly untrained, and she didn't use it often – in fact, he was sure that if she knew he was there, she would have never started singing at all – but it was lovely, high and soft. Erik sighed in disappointment when she left the room.

He descended to the lake below the opera house and carefully rowed across on his gondola. Sitting at his desk, he picked up a pen and began to write a note to Amy. When he finished, he sprinkled sand across it to make the ink dry faster, then shook it out, folded it up, and sealed it in an envelope.

Erik frowned, remembering how skeptical Madame Giry had seemed to be of Amy's story. He scrawled a shorter note to her and sealed that one in an envelope as well. He addressed both letters, then put on his hat and cape and went to deliver them.

~O~

"Amy!" Rose, a blonde girl that Amy had taken quite a liking to in her short time at the Opera Populaire, looked delighted to see the ginger. She hurried up to Amy, taking her hands firmly.

"Are you okay?" Rose whispered, glancing around. "Clara said she found you on the stage – just lying there."

"I'm fine," Amy assured her. "I just bumped my head, and someone must've found me and put me there."

Rose looked as unconvinced as Madame Giry had. "You'd better tell me and Clara the  _real_ story later. You owe it to us," she said.

Amy glanced around, slightly worried that the Phantom was listening in. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she mumbled.

The shorter ballerina smiled smugly. "Good," she said, releasing Amy's hands and patting her arm. "Now come on, let's go practice."

Later, when the girls were taking a short break in the dressing room, Amy saw a white envelope right by the hidden door. Her heartbeat sped up in excitement, and she hurried over to the wall, hoping desperately that the Phantom had left it for her.

The envelope had her name written on it in a strong, elegant script. Amy carried it over to a bench where none of the other girls usually sat.

"A bit dramatic, aren't you? First the flower and now the note," she murmured as she opened it carefully, though she wasn't sure if the Phantom was listening.

Inside was a beautiful sheet of stationery, white with intricate black designs around the border. Amy unfolded it slowly and read was written inside.

**Amelia,**

**It has come to my attention that you have the potential for an exceptional voice. If it is your wish to continue to develop your singing, I would be more than happy to teach you.**

**–O.G.**

Amy's cheeks flushed. He had heard her singing? He thought she was  _good?_

Suddenly, the note was snatched out of her hand, and her head flew up. Rose and Clara stood in front of her, both smiling.

"What's this, Amy?" Rose sang out, holding up the note. "A letter from an admirer, perhaps?"

Amy's face felt even hotter. "Give it back!" she said, grabbing the note. As she did so, she noticed more writing on the back, and turned it over to read it.

**Post Script – It would be wise not to tell your friends that it was I whom you met with.**

Amy huffed, folding up the letter and putting it back in the envelope. "It's from a friend," she said.

Clara and Rose sat down on either side of her, and she got the distinct feeling that they wouldn't let her leave if she tried to get up. "Okay, but you still have to tell us what happened last night," Rose said.

Amy hesitated. "I was talking to someone," she said.

Clara giggled. "Who?"

"I never saw his face."

Rose gasped. "Was it the Phantom of the Opera?" she whispered.

Clara rolled her eyes. "Rose, everyone knows that's just a story. The Phantom isn't real, he was just a story made up by the managers to promote Christine Daaé."

"Yeah," Amy said nervously. "I don't know who he was. He was… charming, though."

"Do you think he was handsome?" Rose smirked.

Amy shrugged helplessly. "It's possible."

"Was he in love with you?" Clara asked, sounding delighted by the prospect.

"Are you kidding?" Amy snorted. The Phantom had definitely  _not_ been in love with her – that was one thing she didn't have to lie about.

Clara seemed mildly disappointed. "Oh, well. Why did he take you to the stage, though?"

Amy frowned. "It's sort of a blur, to be honest. I don't really remember."

"Are you going to try to find him again?" said Rose.

"Oh, yes," Amy muttered. "Definitely."


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

That night, Amy sat at the vanity in the dressing room and wrote a reply to the Phantom.

**Monsieur O.G.,**

**I am grateful for your offer to teach me. However, I'm reluctant to accept. I have never seen myself as a singer, and I don't want to let you down. Tell me, then, why you think you can help me. And tell me why you chose me, of all people.**

**Yours,**

**A. Pond**

On the back, she added,

**Post Script – In person, if you please, monsieur.**

Hoping the request wasn't too much, Amy folded up the paper and managed to place it in front of the hidden door without anyone noticing her.

"Are you staying behind again?" Clara whispered to her as they were getting ready to go back to their rooms a few minutes later.

"I think so," Amy replied, glancing discreetly at the wall. The note she'd placed there was gone already, leaving her to wonder how the Phantom had managed to retrieve it without being seen.

"Try not to end up lying on the stage again," Clara joked.

Amy laughed. "I can't make any promises," she teased.

Clara grew more serious, touching her friend's face lightly. "Oh, do be careful, Amy. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'll be fine," Amy assured her, smiling. She chose again not to mention the bruises on the back of her neck, knowing it would only worry her friend. "Tell Rose where I am in case she wonders, will you?"

"Of course." Clara hugged Amy quickly, then murmured a 'goodnight' and left with the other girls.

Amy waited as everyone filed out of the room, then rose, freeing her hair from its knot and pulling a pale blue dressing gown over her leotard. Fluffing her hair slightly, she crossed the room and stood in front of the hidden door.

Her fingers found the switch with ease, and she opened the door quickly, only to see an empty tunnel before her. "Monsieur le Fantôme?" she called uncertainly. Would he not come, then?

Behind her, someone ran a hand over her hair, and a low voice murmured into her ear, "I have many ways of getting into this room, Amelia. Do not think that door is the only one."

Fast as lightning, Amy whirled around, her hand snapping up to grab the Phantom's wrist. He was too surprised to react at first, and so Amy got her very first look at the Phantom.

Her original thought was that he was very tall, but that wasn't quite right. He was really only an inch or two taller than she was, but he had a dark, commanding air about him, and it made him seem taller. He wore a black coat, vest, and pants, with a white shirt and bowtie. Draped over his shoulders was a black cape with glittering embellishments, on his head was a wide-brimmed black hat, and – strangest of all – a white porcelain mask covered half his face.

Amy blinked, making herself look past the mask. He had an undeniably handsome face on the side that wasn't covered, and his eyes were as dark as night, completing the mysterious look.

Now those eyes narrowed, and Amy realized she was still clutching his arm tightly. Slowly, she loosened her grip, until her fingers were just barely hovering on his sleeve.

The Phantom cleared his throat, moving back slightly. Amy's arm fell to her side, and though her cheeks were warm with embarrassment, she gave him a smile.

"Very enigmatic," she stated, looking him up and down again, "with the mask and the hat and the cape. You take your role of 'phantom' very seriously."

His look of mild confusion turned into a scowl. He removed his hat and set it on the bench, then took off his cape with more of a flourish than Amy thought really necessary. He laid it beside his hat and looked at her again. "You would mock me, child?"

"Am I a child, or am I Amelia?" she said, not answering his question. "You should choose which one you see me as."

The Phantom glared at her. "You try my patience," he said. "Why exactly did you ask to see me?"

Amy folded her arms. "I want to know why you see potential in my voice," she said.

The Phantom opened his mouth to speak, but Amy held up her hand. "One thing first."

He sighed. "What?"

Amy gave him a long look. "What's your name?"

His dark eyes widened, but only for a moment. "Erik," he said.

A grin appeared on Amy's face. "Erik," she repeated, and for reasons he couldn't explain, his name on her lips was like the sweetest melody. "It suits you." Then she dipped into a curtsy.

The Phantom – Erik – watched her warily, and she wondered if anyone had ever been genuinely polite to him. The thought made her sad.

She settled down on the bench, pulling her dressing gown a little tighter around her. "Go on," she prompted, gazing up at him. "Convince me to let you be my teacher."

Erik folded his hands, and Amy noticed that he wasn't wearing gloves like he had been the previous day. He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly.

"You are quite good already, but you need training in order to refine your skills," he began. "I can shape your voice, form it into something beautiful, worthy of the stage. You can be so much more than a ballerina who merely sings to herself. With my help, you can unlock music you would never dare to dream of. That is the power of music, Amelia – it can teach your soul to fly."

Amy was enchanted. His words, his very voice were like the music he described, and she felt as though something unseen was tugging at her heart. However, she managed to retain her composure.

"One last thing before I decide," she said, and she was glad her voice didn't tremble. "Sing for me."

Erik stared at her.  _He_ was usually the one making that request,  _he_ was the one who should be telling  _her_ to sing. But she was looking at him expectantly, and her hazel eyes were golden in the dim light, and he found himself singing before he realized what was happening.

_"_ _Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses_

_Slowly, gently night unfolds its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night"_

As the last note died away, Erik focused on Amy and immediately noticed two things. Firstly, he saw that tears shone on her pale cheeks, and secondly that her eyes were closed and she seemed almost like she was in a trance. Not wanting to disturb her, he simply watched her and waited.

After what felt like an eternity, Amy let out a long sigh and opened her eyes. She wouldn't meet Erik's gaze as she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her dressing gown.

"Thank you," she rasped quietly. "That was…"

Erik dipped his head. "You're welcome," he said, bewildered. She seemed more moved by it than he'd expected her to.

Amy looked up at him, tears still pooling in her warm golden eyes, and he had the strangest realization. He realized that he wanted to sit beside her and hold her in his arms, to dry her eyes and sing for her more. The thought made him tense up.

Before either of them could move, the door slammed open, and Madame Giry stormed in with a paper in her hand.

"Amelia, come here.  _Now,"_ she demanded.

Amy stared at her. "Why?"

"Just come over here," Madame Giry snapped, her eyes fixed on Erik. "You don't know who this man is."

"And  _you_ do?" Amy's eyes were wide with indignation.

Madame Giry held up the paper, and Amy could see that it was the same stationery that her note from Erik had been written on. "I received your note," she told him.

Erik smiled coldly. "I can tell that you didn't read it."

"Oh, I read it," she said. "And then I heard you singing, and it all came together."

"What does it say?" Amy asked, standing and going cautiously over to Madame Giry. The ballet mistress handed her the paper, on which was written a note in Erik's elegant script.

**Madame Giry,**

**You remember what happened last time you tried to meddle in my personal affairs. I trust you not to make the same mistake again.**

**-Erik**

"I see I was wrong to think you would leave me alone," Erik sneered.

Madame Giry turned to Amy, a pleading look in her eyes. "Amelia, whatever this man has told you has been a lie. You cannot trust him."

Amy's brow furrowed. "Erik has been nothing but honest with me," she argued, stepping away from her and letting the note fall to the floor. "I think he's right. Taking lessons from Erik won't interfere with my ballet. I may be your student, but this has nothing to do with you."

Madame Giry shook her head. "I cannot allow it."

Amy gave her a fierce glare. "It is not your choice, madame," she said stiffly. She didn't falter even as Madame Giry stared back, and finally the older woman lowered her head in defeat.

"Mark my words," she warned Amy as she left. "You don't know what kind of man he is."

"I don't need to," Amy retorted, watching Madame Giry close the door.

Erik was fascinated. Amy, who had only been at the Opera Populaire for a few days, would dare to challenge Madame Giry? Even more intriguing was that his young friend had won the battle.

"I meant that," Amy said, turning to him. "All that matters to me is here and now." She lifted her hand toward his face.

Immediately, Erik remembered how Christine had unmasked him twice when he'd least expected it, and white-hot anger flashed through him. Was Amy planning to do the same? He caught her wrist roughly, but not before she pressed her palm flat against his mask.

"I'm not going to take it off," she said gently. "What lies underneath this mask doesn't change anything."

Erik dragged her hand away from his face, holding her arm beside her head. Reaching down to take her other wrist in his free hand, he pulled that one up as well.

"Oh, come now," he hissed as his fingers dug into her delicate wrists, leaning closer so his mask caught the light. "Aren't you even a little bit curious? Don't you want to know what the rumors say? Don't you care why your teacher is so keen on keeping you away from me?"

Pain, and something like fear, flickered briefly across Amy's face, and she didn't respond. The burning anger in his dark eyes was too much to bear.

Then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the flames died. Erik let go of her, straightening so he was taller than her again.

"Why is it so important, anyway?" Amy rubbed her wrists, wincing.

Erik brushed a stray curl away from her face, and she immediately froze. "I'll enjoy watching you find out about me," he said shortly, turning and getting his cloak and hat off the bench. "Then we'll see if you're still intent on being my 'friend'."

And on that note, he vanished into the darkness, leaving Amy to sink to her knees on the wood floor and wonder what the hell she'd done wrong.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thankfully, I finally have a decent plot down for this story. It'll get started up in chapter 5. All the chapters before 5 were written in about a week, and I had no plan in mind whatsoever for what I wanted to do with this. Yay me.
> 
> Also, as I typed this, I realized the entire thing is in Amy's point of view. Oops.

_Chapter Four_

"So, Rose," Amy began nervously. The two girls were sitting on Amy's bed before practice, and Amy was determined to satisfy her own curiosity about Erik's past at the opera house, no matter what the consequences might be. "What do you know about the Phantom of the Opera?"

Rose's whisky-colored eyes grew round. "I  _knew_ you'd seen him."

"No, that's not it," Amy said hurriedly. "Just tell me the story. I want to know."

Rose nodded. "Well," she said, "I don't really know much of it. But they say a few years ago, in this opera house, the Phantom killed two men and tried to kidnap this ballet girl that he'd somehow trained to be an amazing singer. I think maybe he loved her. But half the opera house burned down, and the girl – Christine Daaé's her name – was saved. Nobody's heard or seen from the ghost since."

Amy frowned. The whole story would've seemed too strange to be real, but the bit about Christine sounded eerily similar to what was currently happening with her and Erik. And the part about the murders… well, she didn't want to believe it of him, but it was certainly possible.

"Amy?" Rose sounded concerned. "You've gone deathly pale. Do you want me to get Madame Giry?"

"No!" Amy grasped Rose's hands, making a fast decision. "Rose, you must swear to me never to tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. Not even Clara."

Rose nodded quickly. "I swear."

Amy exhaled slowly. "I… I've met him. The Phantom."

The blonde ballerina's hand flew to her mouth. "You're kidding."

"I'm not." Amy shook her head. "I met him in the dressing room two days ago. He's the one who left me on the stage. And last night, we met again."

"Were you frightened?"

"No, I wasn't at the time. I was…" Amy struggled for the right word. "I don't know. He did last night, though. One moment he was calm and gentle, and the next, he was raging like a storm." She shook her head, sighing. "Oh, but Rose, his  _voice._ I can still hear him singing in my mind. He has the most incredible voice. Even when he speaks, it sounds like music. I've never heard anything like it before."

Rose was quiet for a moment. "He sounds terrifying," she said at length. "I'd tell you not to see him again, but I know you won't listen. Just be careful, yeah? I don't want you getting killed."

"I'll be careful," Amy promised. "Thank you, Rose."

~O~

That evening, Amy found a letter from Erik. She almost didn't open it out of anger from how he'd mistreated her, but curiosity got the better of her. She opened the letter carefully, noticing that it was significantly longer than the previous one.

**Amelia,**

**Before I go any further I want to offer you my sincere apologies for last night. Sometimes, but not often, my temper flares up. I know you did not intentionally provoke me, and so I must ask your forgiveness.**

**I write the rest of this letter with the assumption that you still want me to teach you to sing. It seems Madame Giry will not let us practice together in the Opera Populaire itself. Therefore, you and I must come to an agreement.**

**If you are not too daunted by the prospect of coming to my home – and if you have accepted my apology and forgiven me – I will meet you at the end of the tunnel where we first met.**

**-Erik**

Amy tucked the note into her dressing gown pocket, sighing softly. She knew that, in her heart, she'd already decided to go, but she wasn't as confident as she had been. Her neck hurt less, but fresh bruises had appeared on her wrists, and she'd had to use makeup to cover them up that morning. She only hoped nobody had noticed.

Realizing that some of the girls had begun to leave, Amy untied her hair, running her fingers through the curls absently and staring into the mirror in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rose cast a grim look at her, but she didn't return it.

Almost before the last girl had left, Amy stood and hurried over to the wall. She took a deep, shaking breath, pressed the switch, and watched the door open.

"Erik," she called into the empty tunnel. "Are you there?"

There was no reply. Amy's hands trembled as she closed the door behind her and the darkness wrapped around her. She would just have to get this over with as soon as possible.

She set off at a quick pace down the corridor. It wasn't a very long tunnel, fortunately, although in the dark and the silence it felt like she was walking for ages. Soon she could see candlelight ahead, and she came to a set of descending stairs.

"Amelia," Erik greeted her, and she jumped a little. He was standing a few steps down, one hand against the railing. She hadn't even noticed him.

"You know, you  _can_ just call me Amy," she said, trying to sound normal.

He smiled faintly, surprising her. "Perish the thought," he said. "Come, we've no time to lose."

Confused, Amy followed him down the stairs. He was being almost kind to her – perhaps he was trying to make up for how he'd treated her before?

At the bottom of the stairs, Amy beheld a sight that she found difficult to believe. There, underneath the opera house, was a massive lake. The water was glassy and dark, and mist hung in the air; it was beautiful, mysterious, and altogether otherworldly.

There was a gondola moored at the edge of the water, and Erik climbed into it, then held out his hand. Hesitantly, she took it and allowed him to help her into the boat. She sat down, arranging her dressing gown carefully around her, and watched as he took up the long pole and began to row them across the lake.

There seemed to be candles everywhere. "How do you keep all these candles lit?" she asked, and Erik rolled his eyes, not deigning to answer her question.

Soon the boat came to the shore, and Amy rose carefully, stepping out before he could help her. Erik followed, smoothing his slicked-back hair and resting the pole against the boat.

"This is my home," he said a bit flatly, gesturing at the cavern before them.

An organ stood, tall and grand, at one side of the room. There was a desk at the other side, on which laid a stack of the black-and-white stationery, a box of envelopes, a quill, and ink. A large chair that made Amy immediately think of a throne was near the middle of the room. In one corner, a curtain hung, but through it she thought she could make out a bed. Near the organ, the walls were decorated with sketches on sheets of paper.

She went to the closest one, leaning down to look at it. The drawing was of a girl, with thick, dark curls and a lovely smile. It was incredibly realistic. The picture was titled simply  _Christine_. Taking another quick look around, she could guess that many of the sketches were of the same young woman. She must be Christine Daaé, then. The girl whom Erik had been in love with.

Stepping away from the wall, Amy commented, "Well, it's certainly impressive. Rather dark, but it's underground. What would you expect?"

Erik silenced her with a glare as he made his way over to the organ. "I've grown used to it," he informed her, straightening a few sheets of paper before sitting on the stool.

Amy wondered if his sudden annoyance was because she'd been looking at the drawing of Christine. She bit her lip, coming to stand beside him. "This organ is beautiful," she said softly, hoping he'd recognize her attempt at an apology.

He seemed to relax slightly. "Yes, it is," he agreed. He then cleared his throat and played a scale on the organ. "Sing," he said.

Amy repeated the scale as well as she could, wondering if she sounded as bad to Erik as she did to herself. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried that he hardly reacted. He merely played another scale, one half-step higher this time.

This went on for a few more steps before Erik stopped abruptly. Amy thought she'd done something wrong as he rose from the seat, coming to stand behind her. "I'm going to correct your posture," he said. "Firstly, keep your chin down, especially when hitting higher notes. The last thing you want to do is strain your throat."

Amy tilted her chin down, and Erik continued, "Stand up straight. Push your ribs out, and sing from here." He reached around her, lightly pressing his palm against her stomach just below her ribcage. Her back straightened immediately, and a blush covered her cheeks.

Erik removed his hand, going back to the organ, and she could breathe again.

"Uh… how do I do all that?" she asked hesitantly.

"When you breathe in, your stomach should expand, not your chest," he explained. "Try to make the back of your throat feel as open as possible, like a yawn. Use the same technique when singing higher notes."

Amy tried to follow his instructions as she inhaled, but just ended up actually yawning. She covered her mouth quickly, mumbling an apology.

Erik played another scale. "Try everything I've taught you," he said.

She sang the scale and was delightfully surprised to find how much easier it was. When she successfully lifted her soft palate, as she later learned it was called, the soprano notes slipped out of her throat with hardly any effort.

"Much better," Erik praised her, and she felt a small glimmer of pride. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.

Nearly two hours later, that attitude had completely disappeared. Her throat felt raw from so much singing, she was rather breathless, and her legs were trembling slightly. She had never realized how much work using her voice was.

Erik seemed to notice how exhausted Amy was. "That's enough for today," he said, and her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He stood, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "You did very well, Amelia. You have a natural gift, and a good ear."

She smiled at him. "'S mostly thanks to you."

Erik slid his hands off her shoulders, motioning for her to follow as he headed toward the lake. "Come, I'll take you as far as the stairs," he said.

By the time Amy climbed into her bed, her eyelids were heavy and her movements were sluggish. She pulled the blankets up to her chin, closing her eyes and sighing deeply.

As she slept, a haunting melody wove through her dreams – the voice of the Phantom of the Opera.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay with this chapter. School has kept me away from the computer, and as I write this I'm just getting over an awful cold. I hope it was worth the wait. This is the longest chapter so far, the second longest being chapter 3. Some new characters are also introduced in this chapter (well, one, really - the other is just mentioned).
> 
> So, just a few days ago, I finished reading the novel, The Phantom of the Opera, and I must say I really enjoyed it. While I am keeping Trapdoor mostly ALW!Erik, I think at some point I'd like to try my hand at writing Leroux!Erik. It seems like it would be an interesting experience.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one!

_Chapter Five_

In the next few weeks, Amy's life fell into a routine. The Opera Populaire had begun preparing for a production of  _Belle et la Bête_ – Beauty and the Beast – and every day, Madame Giry had the girls hard at work learning the dances. When Amy wasn't dancing, she and Rose were combining their meager artistic skills in order to help build props.

At night, Amy would use the passageway in the dressing room and go beneath the opera house for her lessons with Erik. He soon showed her that there was an extra boat that she could take back and forth, so he wouldn't have to wait for her. Erik was normally a patient teacher, and Amy was a determined student, but she never hesitated to be free with her sarcasm.

Lately, though, Amy's attention had been focused on an idea she had been rolling around her mind. She wanted to audition for Belle, the lead role in Beauty and the Beast. The part required dancing abilities as well as singing, and as her skills in both areas progressed, she grew more and more confident that if she were to audition, she would have a promising chance.

There was no current lead soprano for the opera house, as the woman had quit not long ago to take care of family matters. Of course, it wasn't as though Amy expected to become the new soprano, but with no diva to automatically be assigned the part of Belle, it was more likely that Amy would be chosen.

"Erik," she said one night after lessons, standing beside the organ, "I want to audition for Belle."

Her teacher looked up. "You what?" he said, looking slightly troubled.

Amy grew defensive, although she knew it was pointless. "Well, I know I'm not even  _close_ to being good enough," she bit out. "I'm no Christine, after all."

As soon as the words were out, she wished she could take them back. Erik's countenance darkened, and his shoulders went rigid. She could tell he was struggling not to get angry, but she knew his temper well enough to know that he was fighting a losing battle.

"I'm sorry," Amy said into the silence. "I shouldn't have –"

"No, you shouldn't have," Erik growled.

"I'm sorry, I should go," she mumbled, turning. When no objection came, she walked quickly to her boat and left without another word.

Erik groaned, putting his head in his hands. Amy had unknowingly landed a double blow on him: first by mentioning that she wanted to audition for the new show, and secondly by bringing up Christine.

The story of Beauty and the Beast was one Erik had always despised, and that was even before Christine had left him. In the tale, the beautiful girl fell in love with the monster, and they married. Erik had not been nearly so lucky.

He sighed and took out the composition he had been working on. If Amy wanted to audition, he could not deny her, no matter his personal views on the role. His young student was improving faster than he had ever expected her to.

Erik set aside his music, thoughts of Christine mingling with worries about Amy and making him unable to concentrate. Christine still haunted him, no matter how he tried to forget her, and Amy simply would not get out of his head.

Amelia Pond and Christine Daaé. The two women were as different as night and day.

Christine had been innocent, kind, and pure. She was his light, his Angel, and even after three years he loved her beyond doubt. But he had driven her away from him, and she had married that boy. Erik had never been the one to hold her heart, and he wished sometimes that he could do it all again. Maybe if he had made better choices, she would have loved him.

Amy was fire, all long limbs and red hair with a blazing temper and a mischievous nature. Although she burned bright, she was darker than Christine had ever been. Erik didn't love her, but she attracted him in a way that was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. It sounded cliché, but she was magnetic. That was the only way to describe her.

Erik stood abruptly, going to his desk. He needed to stop comparing Amy to Christine. It only served to irritate him, and if his feelings for Amy grew any more confusing, he thought he might explode. Besides, he didn't need to be harboring false hope.

He wasn't like the Beast in the story. Nobody could ever love a monster such as him.

~O~

**Amelia,**

**Apologies for my behavior last night. The subject of my former student is a sensitive one.**

**I will be expecting you at the regular time. Do you know what song you are meant to audition with?**

**-Erik**

Amy rolled her eyes. Erik's notes were always so weirdly formal. At least he had apologized, even if it took him nearly a day to do it.

"Amy?" Clara interrupted her thoughts, sitting down beside her. "I want to ask you something."

"Yes?" Amy folded the note quickly, looking up.

Clara glanced at it, but didn't ask her about it, which Amy was grateful for. "Are you going to try out for Belle?"

Amy blinked. "I am. How did you know?"

"I suppose I just guessed," Clara said. "But are you sure you want to? You know you'll have to sing in front of people, right?" Clara personally had never heard her sing, but she knew how nervous Amy got if she even  _thought_ somebody heard her.

"Yeah." Amy swallowed. She kept her tone casual, but her face paled slightly. "I know."

Clara laid her hand on Amy's shoulder. "You'll do wonderful," she said emphatically. "Rose and I will surely be at the audition to cheer you on."

Color returned to Amy's cheeks, and she smiled. "Thank you."

"Clara?" Rose poked her head around the side of a bunk. "A letter came for you."

"A letter?" Clara was on her feet immediately, holding out her hand. "Let me see."

Rose handed her a thick, cream-colored envelope. "Who's it from?" she questioned, but got no reply.

As Clara tore open the envelope, Amy came up behind her and peered over her shoulder. There were several expensive-looking sheets of paper inside, all covered in a messy scrawl in a light hand. The envelope's return address was from a John Smith, and the letter began with the words  _'My dear Mademoiselle Clara'_.

Amy gasped. "Clara, you have a lover?"

Clara blushed right to the roots of her hair, sliding the papers back into the envelope. "No!"

Rose had seen it also, and wore a grin that mirrored Amy's. "You can't hide anything from us," she said. "You've got to tell us about him."

Clara gripped the envelope tightly. "Well…" she stammered. "He-he's English. He's a doctor, and he travels all over the world."

"How romantic!" Rose giggled.

"Do you love him?" Amy asked.

Clara looked like she might faint. "Yes. But he doesn't love me."

Rose shook her head. "You can't know that. Besides, you haven't even read his letter yet," she pointed out.

"That's true." Clara pressed the letter to her heart.

Amy lightly pushed Clara toward her bunk. "Tell us what he says," she laughed.

Rose pulled Amy aside to give Clara some room, still beaming. "That's so sweet," she sighed.

"A foreign doctor, though? I bet he's really eccentric or something," Amy joked.

"Speaking of eccentric…" Rose lowered her voice. "How are things with… you know who?"

"Er – the Phantom?" Amy corrected herself quickly, frowning. "What do you mean, 'how are things'?"

"Have you seen him since you told me about him?" Rose sounded a little impatient.

Amy glanced around, then leaned in and whispered, "I see him every evening. He's giving me voice lessons."

Rose's mouth opened. "Amy, are you mad?"

"Of course not. Rose, I told you I'd be careful. And I  _am."_

Rose was about to reply, but Clara gasped loudly behind them, and both girls were at her side immediately.

"Amy, Rose!" Clara cried, her face shining with joy. "He's coming here! Monsieur John is coming to Paris! He'll be here in time for the show!"

Rose's eyes lit up. "Clara, how wonderful!"

"How long is he staying?" Amy inquired.

Clara's eyes moved down the page for a moment, then her hand flew to her lips, and the paper slipped from her fingers. "He bought a house here," she whispered. "H-he's coming here to stay."

Amy caught Clara's hands and pulled her to her feet. "Oh, Clara, he must mean to marry you!"

"We can't jump to such conclusions," the petite brunette protested, but spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

"Of course we can," Amy giggled. She twirled her friend around, spinning her out in front of her. "You're going to have the most beautiful wedding."

Rose clapped her hands together. "We'll be your bridesmaids, won't we?"

Clara started to smile. "Yes," she said. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You two are my best friends."

Amy twirled her again, then passed her to Rose, who pulled her in and grabbed her waist with her free hand. "You'll have to wear a beautiful gown," Amy said. "White is traditional, isn't it?"

Clara placed her hand on Rose's shoulder. "White is lovely, but I quite like red," she admitted.

Amy laughed as Rose began to waltz with Clara around the room. They spun out of sight, going behind a row of bunks and leaving Amy momentarily alone.

At that moment, someone lightly touched Amy's shoulder. She whirled, expecting it to be Erik, but it was someone else.

A young, slightly familiar-looking man stood in front of her. He had messy dark blonde hair and a prominent nose, but he wasn't bad looking, especially with that endearing look of uncertainty on his face.

"Are you Miss Pond?" he asked, and the cadence of his voice made all the pieces click together. He was Monsieur Rory Williams, the leading tenor at the Opera Populaire. Why was he there?

"Yes," she answered.

He handed her a paper. "I was asked to give you the information sheet concerning the audition for  _Beauty and the Beast,"_ he said.

Amy took the paper with a polite smile. "Thank you, monsieur." She hadn't even heard the door open. Perhaps he had been there for quite some time. How must she look to him, in her white tutu, dancing with her friends around the room? Her cheeks burned.

Rory smiled back, not seeming to notice her flustered state. "I'll see you at the audition, then," he said softly and departed.

Clara and Rose came out from behind the bunks, but they stopped dancing abruptly when they saw Rory's retreating figure.

"Who was that?" Rose said, turning to Amy.

"Monsieur Williams," Amy replied, passing her the paper. "He brought me this. It's for the audition."

Clara's eyes widened as she looked over Rose's shoulder. "Amy," she said carefully. "You realize the auditions are in two days?"

_"_ _What?"_ Amy moved to look where Rose was pointing. Clara was right; the audition was in a mere two days' time. She groaned softly, closing her eyes.

Why had she waited so long to ask Erik for help? She'd never be able to learn the piece in two days!

As Amy opened her eyes, she saw that the light streaming in through the windows had started to fade. If she left now rather than later, perhaps she would have more time to practice with Erik.

"I have to go," she said.

Her friends looked at her. "Where are you going?" Clara asked.

Amy bit her lip briefly. "I'm going to practice. I don't have much time." Technically, it wasn't a lie.

Clara's confused look disappeared. "Oh. Have fun," she said. "Remember, we're supporting you!"

Rose's grim frown lingered. "Don't stay up too late," was all she said, but Amy heard the hidden warning.

"I won't," she assured her, already heading for the door.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter took... like... an age. Lol. My sincerest apologies for the wait. I had school and finals and everything was quite busy and stressful for pretty much the whole month of December so far. But now I'm on winter break, and I can get to writing!
> 
> Everything seems pretty happy and fluffy for now, but never fear, my faithful readers. The next chapter should make things a little more... interesting.
> 
> One last note: It has recently been brought to my attention that, despite my acknowledgement before the first chapter that my Erik is based off of Ramin Karimloo's, he actually seemed to be more like Gerard Butler's Phantom from the 2004 movie.
> 
> While I have nothing against Butler's portrayal (okay, that's a bit of a lie, I don't much like his voice), I am trying very hard to keep this Erik like Karimloo's. Therefore, I went back and (hopefully) edited out anything that resembled Butler's Phantom, mainly the skull seals on the notes. I left the rose in chapter two, though. I just liked that too much to edit out. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy Chapter Six!

_Chapter Six_

"Erik?"

Erik jumped slightly, looking up from his music. Amy was stepping out of the boat, holding up her skirt at her ankles.

Rather than continuing to wear her leotard and a dressing gown, she had taken to wearing full-length gowns to their lessons as it got colder – both outside and in his home. Tonight, she was wearing a violet dress with darker flecks scattered across it, accompanied by dark brown shoes. A red scarf was wound around her neck, and her crimson hair was swept up in a bun, making him frown.

"You're early," he commented, lacking anything better to say.

Amy pulled a sheet of paper from the pocket of her gown as she walked to the organ. He took it from her outstretched hand and unfolded it, his eyes skimming the words. It was an informative paper about auditions for Belle.

"The audition is in two days," she said pointedly.

"Yes, and?" Erik looked up at her.

Amy folded her arms, glaring at him in a way that he found rather attractive. "How am I supposed to learn a song in  _two days?_ That's why I came early – I wanted to get started."

Erik handed her the paper, then turned back to his organ. His composing would have to wait, he thought ruefully as he put away his music.

He had Amy sing a few scales just to warm up, then pulled out a single sheet of music. "This is the song," he told her.

She leaned closer, narrowing her eyes. "It's so short."

"Audition pieces usually are."

Amy visibly relaxed. "Oh. It shouldn't be too hard, then." She then turned to him, hands clasped in front of her. "Will you sing it for me, so I know how it goes?"

Erik winced. The song in itself wasn't bad, but it was… well, it was a bit gender-specific. "Why don't I just play it for you?" he asked carefully.

"Sure." She didn't protest, but she did give him a strange look. As he played the melody, she leaned over his shoulder, her eyes following the words.

When he finished, he asked her, "Would you like me to play it again?"

Amy shook her head, and a curl of ginger hair fell down beside her pale cheek. She left it there, which made Erik smile slightly.

"I should be okay," his student said. "Can you play it with me, though?"

"Of course," he answered smoothly, shaking out his hands a bit before counting her in softly. She straightened, took a deep breath in, and began to sing.

~O~

The day of the audition found Amy standing in front of the mirror, tense with nerves. Her hands knotted in the fabric of her gown, holding so tightly she was worried she'd wrinkle it. She looked well enough, in a pale blue gown with part of her hair tied back so it flowed in ringlets down her back, but that didn't calm her.

"You look lovely, mademoiselle," a voice murmured, making her start. She turned, but the room was empty.

"Erik?" she called, having recognized his voice immediately.

Erik chuckled, stepping out of the shadows. "Don't be nervous," he said as he walked toward her, lightly taking both of her hands in his.

She gave him a small smile, though her brow was still furrowed with worry. "Will you be watching?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he assured her. "Remember to stand up straight, sing out, breathe deeply – and for God's sake, don't keep holding your skirt like that. You'll wrinkle it." The words were stern, but his tone was slightly teasing.

"Yes, monsieur," she replied, grinning now.

He squeezed her hands. "They can't deny your talent, Amelia," he said firmly.

Amy leaned up and swiftly kissed his unmasked cheek, then let go of his hands. "Thank you," she said. "I've got to go. I'll come see you after the audition."

Erik watched her go in stunned silence, lifting a trembling hand to touch his cheek briefly. Then he straightened his jacket and, with a smile hovering at the corner of his lips that he could not push away, went back through the passageway and made his way to Box Five.

When Amy arrived in the theater, there were only about seven or eight girls there, along with the two managers. As she quietly took her place in line, Monsieur Firmin was saying, "Ladies, thank you for coming. As you know, we will be going in order of surname, which means…"

Monsieur Andre consulted a small sheet of paper in his hand. "Miss Juliette Abadie, you will be first," he announced.

Miss Abadie, a pretty young girl with golden curls, stepped forward and folded her hands in front of her. Amy was too anxious to listen to her performance, so she looked over the small group that had gathered to watch the auditions.

There were several of the cast members there, including Clara, Rose, and Monsieur Rory Williams. Her two friends each gave her a reassuring smile, but when she looked at Rory, he simply held her gaze. She glanced away quickly, and her eyes fell on one of the boxes, the one with the best view of the stage.

The box was dark and looked the same as all the others, and yet it was different somehow. As she was watching, she thought she saw the curtain stir ever so slightly, and she frowned. Perhaps that was where Erik was watching from. The rumors did say that the 'opera ghost' had his own private box.

"Miss Amelia Pond," she heard Monsieur Firmin say, and she steeled her nerves as she turned away from the box. She stepped closer to the piano, took a deep breath, stood up straight, and waited for her cue.

 _"'_ _Madame Gaston'_

_Can't you just see it?_

_'_ _Madame Gaston'_

_His 'little wife'_

_No sir, not me_

_I guarantee it –"_

She sucked in a breath, lifting her chin as she sang out.

 _"_ _I want much more than this provincial life!_

_I want adventure in the great wide somewhere_

_I want it more than I can tell_

_And for once it might be grand_

_To have someone understand_

_I want so much more than they've got planned…"_

There was complete silence when Amy finished, and she hardly dared to breathe. She could feel her face warming slightly as she waited for some kind of a response.

"Thank you, Miss Pond," Monsieur Andre said finally, sounding dumbfounded. "That was very, very good. You may go."

Amy ducked her head and hurried off the stage as the manager called for the next young lady. She slid into the seat beside Rose, sighing before glancing up and seeing that both of her friends were staring at her with open mouths.

"What?" she whispered, maybe a little too sharply.

"Amy, that was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," Clara whispered.

Amy's cheeks turned an even brighter red than her hair. "R-really?" she mumbled, straightening her skirt.

Rose nodded earnestly. "I had no idea you could sing like that," she said quietly, sounding awed. "Your teacher is incredible.

_My teacher…_

Amy sat up straight. Erik had been watching her. He had seen her, heard her sing in front of other people for the first time. She had to know what he thought of her audition.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked.

"I have to go," Amy blurted, rising from her seat and heading for the door as gracefully as possible. As soon as she was out the door, she broke into a run, gathering her skirts up past her ankles.

She burst into the dressing room, and Erik was already standing inside, a small smile on his lips and a look of both wonder and amusement in his dark eyes.

"How was it?" she demanded, staring at him. She was quite sure that her cheeks were flushed and her curls were a mess, but she didn't care.

"It was beautiful," he said softly, reverently. " _You_ were beautiful. It was perfect."

Amy beamed. "Do you think I'll get the part?"

"I do not doubt it, Amelia," Erik said warmly. It was the kindest he had ever spoken to her, and suddenly she wanted to thank him for all he had done for her. Simple words would not suffice.

Shyly, she approached him, and he stiffened but did not back away. She drew him into a soft embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. He stood awkwardly with his arms out to the sides, not rejecting the hug but not returning it, either.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything."

Erik was speechless for the second time that day as Amy stepped back, gave him a long look, and left the dressing room.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of sassy!Amy in this chapter.
> 
> Merry Christmas! Or, for those of you who don't celebrate, have a great day!

_Chapter Seven_

"Erik!" Amy called as she stepped out of the boat, face aglow with excitement. "Erik, are you here? I have something to tell you!"

Silence greeted her, and she frowned. Erik was rarely away. Perhaps he was attending to business elsewhere in the theater? She couldn't imagine him being anywhere else.

Amy shivered a little. It was quite cold down here, and she hadn't had time to change out of her tutu and pointe shoes before hurrying down to the lake. The news she had to share was too urgent to wait, but Erik wasn't even here.

Frustrated with him for being gone, frustrated with herself for not just leaving him a note, she rose up  _en pointe,_ lifting her arms above her head. She started a series of pirouettes, imagining she could hear music. This was how she had always gotten rid of her irritation over the years: by dancing.

She did not know how long she danced, alone by the lake, releasing the stress of the past few days. All she knew was that at some point, the music in her head became real, Erik's gorgeous tenor weaving around her in a wordless song. Finally, breathless and sweating, she concluded her dance, ending in a split on the floor with her torso bent over one leg and her hands resting on her ankle.

After some moments, she rose slowly, looking at Erik. He stood beside the lake, hands folded in front of him, a curious expression on his face.

"What?" she said quietly.

"I have never seen you dance before," Erik admitted.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, mirroring her action. "Now, may I ask what exactly you are doing down here?"

"I was looking for you," Amy said. "And when I couldn't find you, well…"

Erik frowned slightly. "Why were you looking for me?"

A small grin came to her face, and she stepped closer to him. "Did you see the cast list for  _Beauty and the Beast_?"

"I regret to say I have not," he said, a glimmer of interest in his dark eyes.

She barely kept from squealing as she caught his hands in hers. "Guess who the leading soprano is," she said breathlessly.

He appeared to consider it. "Hmm… is it that Miss Abadie? She had a very pretty voice, if I recall."

Amy narrowed her eyes, releasing his hands and whacking him not-so-gently on the shoulder. "No, you idiot, it's me!"

He laughed, actually laughed and smiled and everything, and Amy realized two things. One, this was the first time she had ever heard him genuinely laugh; and two, he had dimples. She was transfixed by these facts, and almost missed what he said next.

"I am not surprised," he told her, touching her cheek. "You're magnificent."

She gave him a cheeky smile to hide her embarrassment. "I am, aren't I?"

He frowned. "Shall you become a spoiled diva, then?" he asked her severely, though there was still a teasing undertone that would be easy to miss if she didn't know him so well.

"Oh, I'm quite sure of it," she said cheerfully. "Soon I shall even rival La Carlotta, the prima donna some years ago, if I am correct."

Erik winced visibly at the thought of the woman. "She was a terror," he agreed. "And completely unfit for my stage, if I might add."

Amy laughed. "Erik, I'd love to stay and practice with you, but Madame Giry will be wondering where her star has got to," she said with a wink. "I'll see you this evening, then?"

He nodded. "Will you be moved to the Prima Donna room?"

"I don't think so," she said. "But I'm not sure. Why?"

"There is a passageway behind the mirror in that room. If you are moved there, it will make it far easier for you to slip away for our lessons," he informed her.

She brightened. "Well, let's hope I'm moved, then," she said. She hugged him quickly, the embrace lasting only a second, then went over to the boat. "Goodbye, Erik."

It wasn't until she was halfway across the lake that she realized she forgot to ask where he had been.

~O~

Something was wrong. Amy could tell as soon as she entered the room. The ballet girls were clumped together between the bunks, all whispering anxiously. Some were even crying.

"Amy!" Clara spotted her and immediately rushed over to her, her dark eyes rimmed with red and her face soaked with tears. "Amy, where have you been?! We were so worried!"

"What has happened?" Amy demanded, ignoring the question.

"It's Ashtyn," Clara said, sniffling.

Amy knew the name. Ashtyn was one of the younger ballet girls, but quite talented at the age of fifteen. Ashtyn always greeted everyone with a smile, and she and Clara were close enough in looks that some thought they were sisters.

A feeling of dread grew in the pit of Amy's stomach. "What about her?"

"She's – she's dead."

" _What_?!"

Clara broke down in sobs again, and Amy wrapped a pale arm around the shorter girl's shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. "What happened?" she asked, raising her voice so the other ballet girls could hear her.

One girl, a tall young woman by the name of Halette, spoke up quietly. "Ashtyn went out for some air during practice. She said she was feeling faint. Just a minute ago, one of the stagehands stepped out in the back alley, and he found her… her body." Halette's voice wobbled on the last few words.

"How was she…?"  _Killed._  Amy couldn't say the word.

Halette's face paled. "She was strangled," she whispered, leaning closer to Amy. "By a rope that looked like a noose, but she wasn't hung."

"It was  _him_ who killed her!" a girl wailed, and a ripple of terror passed over the group. The speaker looked barely fourteen years old, and Amy struggled to remember her name. Mallory? No, it was Majori.

"Who?" Amy had a horrible feeling that she already knew.

"The Phantom of the Opera!  _He_ has returned!" Majori looked like she might faint.

Amy's thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour.  _Erik?_ There was no way… but what if he had? He had threatened to kill her before, and Rose said that years ago he had murdered two men... but he was  _Erik._ He was her teacher, her friend, her –

Amy gently passed the still-distraught Clara to Halette. "Majori," she said as she made her way through the knot of dancers. Majori blinked repeatedly, tears leaking out of her pale blue eyes as Amy knelt in front of her and took her hands.

"Majori, listen to me," Amy said, her voice firm but kind. "There is no Phantom of the Opera. And if there ever was, he is long gone."

"But –"

Amy brushed a tear from Majori's cheek. "I don't want anyone else spreading rumors about a ghost," she said, standing up and looking around at the rest of the girls. "Nobody else needs to be frightened. Ashtyn's death was a terrible thing, but there is no reason to blame a ghost."

Most of the girls looked relieved at Amy's logical statement. She guessed they were all so distressed from Ashtyn's sudden death that none of them could think clearly. She herself was in a daze, but she was trying her best to keep a level head in the situation.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she turned to see Rose, whose anger was only thinly veiled. "Amy, could you come with me?" she asked quietly.

Amy swallowed hard. "Of course," she replied, following Rose out of the room. She could feel curious eyes watching them, but paid no heed to them.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Rose rounded on her. "Amy, I  _told_ you he was dangerous!" she all but shouted. "I told you he was dangerous and I warned you and – you  _didn't listen!_ And now look what he's done!"

"Lower your voice, Rose!" Amy cried. "There's no proof that he killed her. You know there isn't!"

Rose set her jaw angrily. "There's enough proof for me," she said stonily. "Your so-called  _teacher_ is a murderer. No matter how much you like him –"

Amy's cheeks flamed. "I don't  _like_ him –"

"– he's still the Phantom," Rose went on as though she hadn't spoken. "You have to stay away from him before he kills you too."

"It's none of your business who I choose to spend my time with," Amy growled. "Until I have proof, I won't believe that he was the one who killed Ashtyn."

Rose stared at her in disbelief. " _Amelia Jessica Pond_  –"

"Don't you dare!" Amy stepped closer to Rose, intending to intimidate her. She was a good six inches taller than Rose, and used that fact to her advantage. "Go back to the others  _now_. I need to speak with Madame Giry."

Rose glowered. "I thought you would be smarter than this," she said as she walked past Amy.

Amy didn't bother to reply as she headed down the corridor. Fortunately for her, she didn't have to go too far before she found Madame Giry.

"Amelia, I must speak with you," Madame Giry said, hurrying toward her.

"What a coincidence. I was just looking for you too," Amy said coldly, and the ice in her voice was enough to pull Madame Giry up short.

"You are aware, then, that Ashtyn is…?"

Amy nodded grimly. "And the other dancers think Erik is the one who killed her," she said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. "Madame Giry, I would appreciate it if you put a stop to such rumors at once. The girls will listen to you more than me."

Madame Giry narrowed her eyes. "Has it not occurred to you that such rumors could be true?"

Amy threw her hands up. "Not you, too!" she exclaimed. "Erik has changed, I'm telling you. He didn't kill Ashtyn!"

The ballet mistress sighed. "Amelia, he has killed in the past –"

"Save it. Mademoiselle Tyler has already lectured me." Amy rolled her eyes, which was probably very disrespectful, but she was past caring by now. "Are we still going to perform the show, or is it being cancelled because of Ashtyn's death?"

"The show will go on," Madame Giry said, a little stiffly. "The managers sent me to tell you that they would like to move you to the Prima Donna room. I myself do not think this is a wise decision, but…"

Amy shrugged. "If the managers wish it, I will move there," she said firmly, and that was that.

~O~

Amy sank down on her new bed, exhausted nearly to the point of tears. Everyone had been given the day off practice, which was a bad choice, because most of the ballet girls spent the extra time crying or being utterly terrified of a 'ghost'. Amy, Halette, Rose, and Meg Giry were the only ones able to console the others, and on top of that, Rose refused to speak to Amy.

Now the long day was finally over, and all she wanted to do was sleep. The bed in the Prima Donna room was much softer than the bunk she'd previously been sleeping in, and she was tempted to just curl up and sleep without bothering to take off her leotard or shoes. It would be so easy…

"Amelia?"

Amy looked up sharply at the voice. A familiar figure was stepping out of the large mirror on the wall, and his eyes landed on her.

"Amelia, what are you doing?" Erik's vaguely disapproving tone was more than she could bear at the moment, and tears flooded her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said stiffly, turning away so he wouldn't see. "I must have forgotten our lesson."

Erik's footsteps were nearly silent as he crossed the room. "It's not like you to forget. Something happened, didn't it?"

She choked out a laugh, a tear dripping down her cheek. "You could say that."

"What is it?"

Amy looked up at him. "The 'Opera Ghost' has returned, that's what."

Erik's visible eyebrow lifted, and he took a small step back. "… Excuse me?"

She wiped her tears away. "Ashtyn is dead, and everyone thinks you did it," she said bluntly. "She was strangled with a rope."

Emotions flickered in his eyes; shock, sorrow, hurt and – somewhat frighteningly – a dark anger. "And people assume that this means I have somehow returned from the dead," he said dryly. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Amy mumbled a 'thanks', then looked up into his eyes. "I knew you didn't do it," she said quietly. "Madame Giry and Rose were trying to tell me to stay away from you. But I told them that it wasn't you."

Erik stared at her, looking bewildered. "You did?"

"Of course," she said.

"For all you know, I could have done it. And yet you defended me," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes, giving him a half-smile even as tears continued to spill over her lashes. "Why does that surprise you? Did you really think I'd believe that? You, killing an innocent teenager without reason?"

"I tried to kill you when we first met," he reminded her.

Amy laughed then. "I know you did. Erik, the point is, I don't think so little of you that I would suspect you of murder for no reason."

He reached out and caught a tear off her chin, and her heart stopped. His face was blank and emotionless as he gently brushed away the drops on her cheeks, including one at the corner of her lips.

"You look tired," he said softly, straightening, but his hand still lingered by her face. "Sleep. I will allow you to miss this one lesson."

"Thank you," she managed, looking down at where she was gripping her skirt so tightly, her knuckles turned white. If Erik noticed, he didn't comment on it.

He brushed his thumb directly over her lips, then let his hand fall to his side and stepped away. "Goodnight, Amelia," he whispered, turning quickly and leaving through the mirror.

Amy ran her fingers through her unbound hair as she stood. Her eyes were heavy with sleep as she changed into her nightgown, but when she curled up beneath the sheets, it took a long time for her to fall asleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The piece Erik plays in this chapter is Erik's Sonata by Michael Wesley. It can be found on SoundCloud or YouTube.
> 
> New characters, some fluff, and hopefully a little surprise at the end. :D
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.

 

_Chapter Eight_

Amy knotted her vibrant red scarf around her neck, letting her ginger curls spill out from under it. December had taken hold over the city of Paris, and the streets were often covered in ice and snow. The dark tunnels below the opera house were much colder as a result, but fortunately for her, the passage behind her mirror was much shorter than the other one, so her journey didn't take as long.

Rehearsals were well under way for  _Beauty and the Beast_ , and Amy was getting to know her co-stars quite well. Rory Williams had been given the role of the titular 'Beast', and despite his sweet, shy personality, he was a very talented actor and singer. She could hardly believe he was the same person when he was acting.

The man who played the part of Belle's unwanted suitor, Gaston, was an American man by the name of Jack Harkness. He was relatively new to the Opera Populaire, and Amy had glimpsed him once or twice, although she had never met him before she was given the lead role. He was very charming and flirtatious, but he was quite a gentleman, and never made her uncomfortable. In fact, she rather enjoyed his company.

Several of her friendships had changed, actually. Rose had grudgingly begun to speak to her again after some time, and while they weren't quite as close as they used to be, they were friends once more. Amy and Clara were as close as ever, and she only wished she could tell the petite girl why she and Rose had fought.

Halette, Majori, and the other ballet girls all seemed to look up to Amy now, especially since she had earned the lead part in  _Beauty_. They were all lovely girls, if a bit superstitious, and she liked being able to talk to them when she wasn't busy with rehearsals or lessons.

There was one more relationship that had shifted slightly – although  _what_ exactly had changed, she had no idea. Just the thought of seeing her vocal teacher was sometimes enough to set her heart aflutter, and she found herself both shying away from him and drawing closer to him at the same time. She didn't know what to think of him.

Amy blew out all but one of the candles in her room, then stepped toward the large mirror on the wall. Her thoughts had wandered too much, and if she didn't hurry, she would be late for her lesson.

Just as her fingers brushed over the cool surface of the mirror to find the switch that would open it, there was a knock at her door, making her jump. "Miss Pond?" a familiar voice called: it was Rory Williams himself.

Amy took a deep breath and strode over to her door, fixing a smile on her face as she opened it. "Good evening, Monsieur Williams," she greeted him.

"G-good evening, Miss Pond," he stammered a little. "I was wondering, um, if you would like to go out to dinner with me tonight."

Her heart sank a little. "I would love to, Monsieur Williams, but I'm afraid I'm already late for my voice lessons," she said, and he blinked, seeming to notice her attire for the first time.

"Oh," he said, his face falling, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "I… well, that is, I'm… sorry, Miss Pond…"

"Maybe another time," she suggested, lifting her eyebrows. "Sunday, perhaps?"

Rory brightened a little, a smile returning to his face. "Sunday sounds good," he said.

"I'll let you know if I'm available," she told him, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but I really don't want to be late…"

Rory blushed. "Oh, of course," he said, then took her hand and lightly kissed it. "Goodnight, Miss Pond."

Amy grinned a little as she watched him walk off down the corridor. The moment he turned a corner, she locked her door and practically flew over to the mirror. She fumbled with the switch, finally managing to get it open. As always, she closed the mirror firmly behind her before hurrying down the stairs to the lake.

"You're late," Erik said quietly when she stepped off the boat, not looking up from his organ. He seemed to always be composing something, but he would never let her hear it.

"I'm sorry," she blushed. "I was delayed. Monsieur Williams wanted to speak to me, and I couldn't turn him away."

Erik glanced up at that. "What did he want?"

Amy shrugged. "He wanted to go to dinner with me. I told him that perhaps Sunday would be better." At Erik's glare, she frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he muttered irritably.

She crossed her arms, going to stand at his shoulder. " _What_?"

"Who exactly is Monsieur Williams?" Erik asked, not meeting her eyes.

Amy's brow furrowed. "You know who he is."

"Who is he  _to you_?" he clarified.

"He's my colleague," Amy said. "He's my friend. I don't see a problem with me going to eat with him. It isn't like he proposed to me!"

Erik looked startled. "I wasn't implying that –"

"You were acting jealous," Amy said quietly. "You don't need to be. I'm not going to go off and marry Monsieur Williams. My place is here… in the opera house."

Damn! That wasn't what she had meant to say. She could feel heat flooding her cheeks at the pathetic way she'd dodged confessing her feelings, but Erik didn't meet her eyes.

"You're right. I'm sorry," he said.

There was a long, awkward silence in which neither of them spoke or looked at each other. The silence stretched on, and desperate to break the tension, Amy took a deep breath. "So, Erik, when are you going to play for me something you wrote?"

Erik's shoulders slumped. "I suppose now is as good a time as any," he said, picking up a few sheets of ink-stained paper.

Amy grinned. "Are you serious?"

"Would you like me to change my mind?" he asked, an odd half-smile on his face as he stood and brushed past her.

"Definitely not," she said, following him. "Where are we going?"

"To the piano," he said, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

Amy hadn't even realized Erik  _had_ a piano, although she supposed it should have been obvious that he would. He led her to another room, where there were several instruments on the walls, and in the center of the room there was a massive piano.

Erik sat down at the piano and placed his music on the stand, shuffling it around a little and straightening it before shaking his hands out. He looked up at her, and she gave him an encouraging nod.

The notes he played were soft, slow, and high, creating an eerie, beautiful melody that sent chills down Amy's spine. His long fingers flowed effortlessly over the ivory keys, and in the darkness of the candlelit room, the song was even more haunting. It was the most ethereal sound she had ever heard, except perhaps his singing.

The left side of Erik's face was the only side visible to her. His expression was stormy yet peaceful, concentrated yet unfocused, and – to Amy's eyes – perfect in all its imperfection. The mask didn't matter to her. Whatever was underneath it could never be enough to lessen anything that she felt for him.

The music slowly came to its quiet end, and both were still, his fingers resting on the keys, hers on her lips. After several long moments, the spell lifted, and she quickly wiped away her tears before he could see them.

"It's not finished," he finally said, his gaze fixed on the piano.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I think you should end it there."

"Was it that bad?" he joked.

"No, it was perfect," she whispered.

Erik looked up at her, laying his hands flat on his knees. "Thank you," he said.

Feeling brave, Amy came and sat beside him on the bench, so close their shoulders were touching. "Could you teach me something?" she asked.

He stiffened, gripping his knees. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. The song you just played?"

"We should start your lesson, Amelia," he said, but he didn't move. "We don't want to slack off, especially so close to opening night."

Amy touched the piano keys lightly, not pressing down hard enough to make a sound. "Just this once?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.

He sighed, meaning to pull away but instead shifting a little closer to her. "Just for a few minutes," he answered, surprising himself even more than her.

She smiled and he looked away, his shoulders still tense as he lifted his right hand to rest on the piano. He slowly played the first few notes of the melody, and Amy copied him a few octaves lower, her fingers only fumbling a little.

This went on for the next ten minutes or so, the only sound in the room the notes of the piano, until Erik couldn't quite stand for her to be so close to him any longer. He stood up rather abruptly, straightening his jacket. "Good," he said, his voice a little strained. "That was good, but we should – we should get on with your singing."

"Okay," Amy agreed calmly, but he could see the tiny smirk on her lips as she got up. "Will you keep teaching me at our next lesson?"

Erik found himself mumbling an agreement before he even registered the question.  _My God, what has this girl done to me?_

~O~

Amy was genuinely tired of people talking about the "Opera Ghost". The ballet girls gossiped the most, but nearly everyone had mentioned him at some point or another. She was sick of the girls blaming everything on the supposed ghost, from losing hair ribbons to a misstep during practice. Often she'd hear them swapping stories about how the Phantom had terrorized the Opera Populaire years ago. It seemed like nobody knew the  _real_ story, instead treating mere rumors as facts and blowing everything way out of proportion.

A few of the girls actually thought the idea of a Phantom haunting the opera house was "romantic", which both amused and disturbed Amy. There was another feeling, almost like jealousy, but she quickly cramped that one down.

She had gone to dinner with Rory that Sunday, and since then they had developed an easy, safe friendship. Clara always insisted that Rory fancied Amy, but the redhead hoped she was wrong.

"I like Rory well enough, but I just don't want a suitor," she said once.

One day, she was stretching at the barre, softly humming scales under her breath, when she heard someone gasp, "It's the Phantom!" She rolled her eyes, planning to ignore it, but another voice made her freeze.

"Take me to Miss Pond immediately." He sounded stern and commanding, not at all like she'd heard him lately, but she could never not recognize his voice.

The door opened, and one of the ballet girls peeked around it, her face pale. Her eyes widened, and she stared at Amy in terror for a moment before retreating. "Sh-she's in here," she heard the poor girl stammer.

Erik strode in, imposing and devilishly handsome in his wide-brimmed hat, long cape, and perfectly tailored suit. He walked over to her, his dark eyes gleaming with something like amusement, and grinned at her shocked expression.

"Miss Pond," he said gallantly.

"What the  _hell_ are you doing here?" she gasped, looking around frantically – fortunately, the room was empty except for them. "Can't you just leave a note in my dressing room if you want to talk to me, you idiot?!"

He laughed, unfazed. "I was delivering a note to the managers and I thought I might as well stop by and give you yours in person," he said, pulling an envelope out of his cape and holding it out to her.

"The managers?" Amy blinked, taking the envelope. "I thought they didn't know you were here."

Erik smiled again; she had never seen him in such a good mood, and it was a little terrifying. "They will soon," he said.

She scowled. "You've been terrifying the entire ballet corps for weeks," she reprimanded him. "Don't you think this stunt you've pulled will scare them even more?"

He sobered a little. "Yes, I know. That was not my intention," he said.

"Oh." Amy stood there, gripping the envelope, not quite sure what to say. She was not easily daunted, but he was pinning her in place with his intense eyes, and she felt quite timid all of a sudden.

Then Erik's gloved hand took one of hers, and he bent slightly to kiss it. His cool lips lingered on her knuckles, and all the while he never broke eye contact. Heat rushed to her cheeks, unbidden and unwanted, but there was no hiding it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he lowered her hand, but her heart still hammered wildly against her ribs. "I will see you soon, my dear," her ghost murmured, his voice low and smooth.

With a flick of his cape, he walked away, seeming to vanish into the shadows. Amy glared after him, trying to make sense of his visit, when Clara and Rose burst into the room.

"Amy!" Clara gasped. "Is there really a ghost? Isabelle said he came asking for you!"

Rose noticed the envelope clutched in her hand. "And he brought you a note," she added, her eyes dark.

"I, uh…" Amy held the note behind her back. "What ghost?"

Clara scoffed. "Okay, I know I didn't believe in him at first, but there's no way he isn't real," she said. "I mean, you saw him, didn't you?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Yes, I did," she admitted. "He brought me a note. I haven't read it yet." She chuckled dryly, adding, "You just missed him."

"What does the note say?" Rose asked, moving closer to her.

"I haven't looked yet," Amy replied stubbornly, holding the envelope a little tighter. "And I'm not going to, with you looking over my shoulder."

Rose looked annoyed. "Fine," she said. "But you'll tell us later, right?"

"If I feel the need to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go." Amy ducked her head, stepping past her friends and leaving the room before either of them had a chance to object.

As soon as she was in her dressing room, she sat down on her bed and tore open the envelope.

**Amelia,**

**Your singing is coming along well, my dear. I'm impressed to see how far you've come, and I'm glad that you have taken an interest in piano as well. You will do well in your upcoming performance, and I look forward to seeing it.**

**Now, to the matter of my letter to the managers – for if you are reading this, you surely know of it. I know you will worry for my safety, and probably tell me it is a stupid idea to inform the managers of my presence in the opera house. I do not doubt that you are correct. However, I felt it was important to assure them that I had no hand whatsoever in the killing of the young ballet girl Ashtyn, and I could think of no better alternative. I hope you can understand.**

**Rather than wait to explain this to you at our next lesson, I wanted to tell you as soon as possible why I wrote the managers that letter, to avoid any complications. You don't need to worry about my safety, nor your own. I am capable of keeping myself safe, and – if need be – I will protect you as well.**

**Ever yours,**

**Erik**

**Post Script – I do not think you incapable of protecting yourself. I hope you did not think that was what I meant.**

Amy smiled a little, folding the note. "Thank you, Erik," she said aloud, and though there was no reply, she was quite certain that he'd heard her.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Um, I'm a little uncertain about this chapter. There's a rather abrupt tone shift in the third part, and I don't know if it's too jarring or doesn't flow well. I would appreciate some feedback on that.
> 
> Also, the amazing sandshoesandbadwolf made a gorgeous edit for this story. Check it out!
> 
> http://raoul-de-indie.tumblr.com/post/109834243795/trapdoor-written-by-ofghostsandrevolutionaries-it

_Chapter Nine_

“It’s getting harder and harder to keep a low profile these days,” Amy remarked as she stepped out of the boat and walked over to where Erik sat. “What with me suddenly becoming the lead soprano, plus your mysterious visit earlier today, I’m famous.”

Erik glanced up at her apprehensively. “Is that a problem?”

She shrugged, folding her hands in front of her. “It has its advantages,” she said evenly. “But it’s harder to get away sometimes. I hope that you’ll understand if I’m late sometimes.” She didn’t seem too annoyed, just thoughtful, so he relaxed.

“Of course I understand,” he said.

Amy gave him a crooked smirk. “You know, the ballet girls were terrified of you,” she told him. “Especially Isabelle, the girl you spoke to?”

Erik’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t hold back a tiny smile. “Well, I’m glad to know I’m still terrifying,” he said dryly.

“Oh, not to all of them,” she said, grinning now. “Some of them fancy themselves in love with you.”

He flushed uncomfortably, his visible cheek turning red. “What?”

She laughed. “Somehow, they think the idea of a ghost is ‘romantic’.”

“Oh.” Erik went silent, trying to process this.

After a moment, she interrupted his thoughts. “Erik, you’ll be there on _Beauty and the Beast_ ’s opening night, won’t you?”

Confused, he said, “Of course I will, my dear.”

Amy blushed prettily and smiled, touching his shoulder. “Good,” she said. “Now, are you ready?”

“When am I not, Amelia?” Erik played a scale quickly, glancing up at her with a small smile. She was holding back a laugh as she sang it, and he thought he had never been quite as happy as he was on these quiet evenings with his beautiful student.

~O~

Amy was always late for lessons with Erik, it seemed. Some days she was rehearsing late. Others she just couldn’t get any time alone. Sometimes she completely forgot.

On one particular day – the day after Erik made his grand appearance in the Opera Populaire – she was kidnapped.

She was alone, walking back to her dressing room after rehearsal, when cold fingers suddenly closed around her wrist and yanked her backwards. She gasped, jerking forward, but the hand gripped her tighter, another joining it at her elbow. A second pair of hands, these ones smaller, caught her other arm in a similar fashion.

The owners of the hands pushed her quickly down the hallway and into an empty room, then released her. She whirled around just as the door shut with a click, but the angry words on her lips died as she saw that her captors were none other than Halette, Majori, and Isabelle.

“What’s going on?” Amy questioned, bewildered and more than a little annoyed. When the girls stayed silent, she went on, “I don’t have time for this right now. I’m going to be late for –”

“– your meeting with the Opera Ghost?” Isabelle said in a rush.

Amy blinked, startled. “What?”

Halette regarded her with intelligent dark blue eyes. “You were going to see _him_ , weren’t you? After that letter he gave you –”

“And when he kissed your hand!” Majori burst out, sounding equal parts delighted and terrified.

Glaring at the younger girl, Amy felt herself blush. “How do you… I didn’t – I thought you were all afraid of him!” she spluttered, embarrassed that they’d guessed her secret.

Isabelle’s tan cheeks flushed a little bit, mirroring hers. “Well, yes, we _were_ , but…”

“Your ghost gave the managers a note saying that he didn’t… you know, kill Ashtyn,” Majori explained, bouncing a little on her toes. “And then he came to see you!”

“These two think he may have feelings for you,” Halette explained awkwardly, watching as Amy’s face turned a darker shade of red. “I’m still not quite convinced –”

“And you shouldn’t be! Why would he have feelings for me? He’s…” She struggled for words. “He’s the Phantom! A legend! He doesn’t…” _He wouldn’t,_ she thought sullenly. _He still loves Christine._

Majori and Isabelle looked disappointed, but Halette’s face showed concern. “Amy, are you okay?”

“No – yes – I’m fine,” Amy blustered, pushing her hair out of her face. “I have to go, I’m going to be late for my voice lesson.” It was just as well that nobody had yet guessed that it was Erik himself teaching her.

“Amy, what did the Phantom’s note say?” Majori asked hesitantly, as though she were afraid of being scolded.

“Advice for my singing, and an explanation about Ashtyn,” the ginger answered. “Strictly professional, I assure you.”

Majori deflated a little. “Oh.”

“I’m not angry with you girls,” Amy said, her voice softening. “I just don’t want to be late. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Amy,” the girls chorused as Halette unlocked the door.

“Goodnight,” Amy echoed, shaking her head as she exited. Erik, love her? _Never in a million years,_ she thought.

And yet the idea lingered in the back of her mind, a tiny hope that she could not crush no matter how hard she tried.

~O~

As opening night drew closer, stress began to take its toll on Amy. She was irritable, jumpy, and most of all tired. Erik was more sardonic and unpredictable as well, and they clashed more frequently.

“You’re late again,” Erik growled one evening as Amy stumbled off the boat. She couldn’t see him, but his voice echoed around her.

“Aren’t I always?” she muttered sarcastically, crossing her arms. Louder she said, “Maybe we should change my lesson time so I wouldn’t be late quite as often, monsieur.”

“I dislike your tone,” he said acidly.

“And I dislike yours,” she shot back. “Now, come out so we can start.”

There was a short pause. “I would prefer to stay under cover of darkness today,” he answered, and she might have been imagining it, but his voice sounded a little rougher than before.

“Erik, please…” Amy said coaxingly, but she could feel her patience wearing thin.

After another, longer pause, Erik slowly stepped out in front of her – but he was not Erik as she knew him, not the put-together, formal, composed Erik. His mask was a little crooked, his dark hair was rumpled, his jacket was missing, and his tie was half-undone. But the most unsettling thing of all was the broken, empty look in his dark-rimmed eyes.

_Erik!_ Amy’s lips formed his name, but no sound came out. She rushed forward, placing her hands lightly on her shoulders and looking him over. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, praying her voice would be steady.

He simply shook his head, his eyes downcast and his jaw set.

Taking a heavy breath to clear her head, Amy reached up and brushed strands of his hair back into place with quick movements of her fingers. He jerked back a little, but she gave him a hard look, and he went still.

As she tried to knot his bowtie, she realized her hands were shaking with uncontrolled worry and distress. She glanced up at him every few seconds to see his reaction, but his face had gone blank, devoid of emotion save for his haunted eyes.

Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Amy lifted her hands toward Erik’s face. In an instant his hands were curling around her thin wrists, his expression hardening.

“Your mask is crooked,” she said in a low voice.

Slowly, he loosened his grip until his hands only lightly encircled her wrists. Figuring that was the most encouragement she’d get, she placed her fingertips at the edges of the smooth white porcelain and tilted his mask back into place.

Meaning to withdraw, Amy started to lower her arms, but Erik reinforced his hold on her. She started, searching his face for sings of anger, but he was looking at her with such intense sorrow and pain that she gasped.

She almost thought he was going to speak for a moment, but he didn’t. After what seemed like an eternity he dropped her wrists and turned away.

“Go back to your dressing room,” he rasped. “There will be no lesson tonight.” And with that he was gone, retreating into the shadows.

Amy was awake long into the night, sitting motionless on the edge of her bed and staring into the darkness beyond her window. The memory of his broken look haunted her, and with it came thoughts that she wished she didn’t have. _What could have happened to him? Why was he so upset? Was he thinking about Christine?_ The thought made her sick.

Shivering, Amy crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to her chin. The last thought before she slipped into sleep’s dark embrace was no less comforting than the others she had had.

_What is underneath his mask?_


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LORD ALMIGHTY BUT I HAVE NEVER WRITTEN A CHAPTER SO FAST.
> 
> In which tensions between Amy and Erik rise, we meet a new character, and the long-awaited opening night of Beauty and the Beast finally arrives!

_Chapter Ten_

The opening night of _Beauty and the Beast_ dawned cold and dark. Amy was convinced it would snow, but nothing fell from the overcast sky except a light drizzle of icy rain early in the morning.

Perhaps if it had snowed, Amy would have been able to relax a little and take her mind off the impending performance. As it was, her focus was solely on that evening. She sang scales until she reached the very edges of her range, she ran her most difficult scenes over and over in her mind, and finally she just went to sit in her room and wait.

“Amy?” Clara poked her head through the door and spotted the young soprano sitting at her dressing room table, turning a deep red rose around and around in her hands.

Amy looked up, forcing a smile. “Hi,” she said flatly.

Clara crossed over to her and knelt beside her chair, laying a hand on her knee. “Are you okay?” she asked, her brown eyes full of compassion.

Sighing, Amy twirled the flower again. “No. I’m so nervous,” she groaned. “I’m going to mess up so badly, and the audience will hate me. And _he’ll_ be so angry.”

Clara frowned, sitting up a little straighter. An image of the mysterious, dark shape of the Phantom flashed through her mind. “Are you afraid –”

“No!” Amy seemed to guess what she had been about to say, and she shook her head vehemently. “No, I’m not. He would never hurt me. I just…” She trailed off, then said more quietly, “I just don’t want to disappoint him. If I don’t do well, I can’t imagine what he’ll think.”

“Do you trust him?” Clara said.

Amy hesitated, then nodded.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She rubbed Amy’s knee comfortingly. “And anyway, you’re going to be amazing. He won’t have any reason to be angry.”

Clara had her own reasons to be worried about the performance. Her good friend and secret love, Doctor John Smith, was meant to be attending the show tonight. He should have arrived in Paris two days before, but he had not contacted her. Part of her was anxious that he would never show up; another part of her was completely terrified that he would.

 _Stop it,_ she told herself. _This is about Amy, not you._

Looking up, she saw that her friend was smiling weakly at her. “Thank you,” she said, although her freckled face was still quite pale, and her fingers still pulled at the stem of the rose. “Now, you should go get ready. Will Doctor Smith be at the performance tonight?”

Clara blushed, and Amy’s smile grew a little. “I’m not sure,” the brunette said. “He hasn’t sent me any letters lately, so I don’t know if he’s in Paris…”

“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Amy said. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Too embarrassed to reply, Clara stood. “I’ll see you before the show, then,” she mumbled as she headed for the door.

“Bye,” Amy said softly, hardly glancing up as the ballerina left.

~O~

Amy stood backstage as she waited for the show to begin, clutching her hands together and trying not to bite her glossed lips. Nerves made her stomach churn, but even more worrying was the fact that she hadn’t seen Erik since _that_ night – hadn’t even heard from him, actually. The only evidence she had that he was still alive was the rose that had appeared in her dressing room that morning.

“ _Amelia,_ ” a smooth tenor voice murmured in her ear, and she stiffened.

 _Speak of the devil,_ she thought dryly.

“So you’ve finally decided to make an appearance,” she said, trying not to draw any attention to herself. “I had begun to miss you, Monsieur le Fantôme.”

Something brushed against the back of her neck, and she inhaled sharply. “So, we’re back to that title, are we?” he whispered from just behind her, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“You have to admit, you are being rather Phantom-esque right now,” she told him. Then, in a softer tone, she added, “Are you okay?”

Erik huffed. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His pacing behind her was rather off-putting. Amy waited, listening to the whisper of his steps behind her – then all at once she spun on her heel and caught Erik’s upper arms, making him stop. But she had misjudged the amount of force behind her movement, and she found herself stumbling forward, taking Erik with her.

Erik’s back hit the wall, Amy’s torso collided with his, and Erik’s hands settled on the curve of her waist. In the darkness, all she could see was the faint glow of his mask and the glint of his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked again in a ragged whisper.

“You know why,” she breathed, staring at his mask. “What happened that night?”

He was tense against her, his fingers twitching distractingly. “Christine,” he muttered.

Amy felt like she’d been punched in the gut. To hear him say that name when he was holding her so close felt like the worst kind of betrayal. “What?”

“I… I saw her face. I heard her voice. But they were blurry and faded. But yours were bright and clear in my mind,” Erik said, sounding suddenly bewildered and angry. He jerked her closer, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Why? Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

The way he spoke, it sounded like… like he felt something for her. Maybe he didn’t love her, but it was _something_. His eyes flickered down to her lips, then back up to meet her eyes, and she swallowed hard.

Their faces were only inches apart, and Erik was tilting his head, and his hand was coming up to hold the back of her head and guide her face closer to his, and her eyes were slipping closed, and the space between them was closing –

The first few bars of the overture began to play, making Amy jerk back in surprise, letting go of his arms. Erik’s hands dropped to his sides, and he looked away so she could only see the masked side of his face.

“Miss Pond!” someone hissed, and she looked around frantically, cheeks burning with humiliation. Had they been seen?

“Do well. I will see you after the performance,” Erik whispered, pulling open a panel in the wall and slipping through it.

Moments later, someone touched her shoulder, and she almost screamed. She turned quickly, her guard immediately up, but it was only Rory.

“Miss Pond, it’s almost time for you to start,” he said in a hushed voice, leading her over to her spot in the wings. “Are you okay?”

“I – I’m fine,” she stammered. So he hadn’t seen her with Erik. _Thank God._

“Okay.” Rory gave her a gentle smile. “You’ll be amazing. Break a leg.”

Amy looked down, embarrassed. “You too,” she muttered. After what had just occurred with Erik, she honestly couldn’t handle Rory being so nice to her.

Rory hesitated, then nodded awkwardly, turning and walking away. Amy sighed, shakily pressing her fingers to her mouth.

She had almost kissed Erik.

_I almost kissed Erik…_

The music faded out, and the narrator began, “Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young Prince lived in a shining castle…” Amy knew the lines by heart, so she didn’t focus on the sound of the voice. The past few minutes kept replaying over and over in her mind, and she just hoped that the stage makeup disguised her blush.

Before she knew it, she heard her music cue. She let out her breath, straightened her skirt, and stepped out onto the stage.

_Here goes nothing._

~O~

The performance went flawlessly. Once Amy started singing, all her nerves disappeared, and she felt as natural being in the spotlight as she normally did dancing in the corps de ballet. Her co-stars were phenomenal as well. Personally, she thought they were far better than she was, but they assured her that she had done extremely well. She was glowing with pleasure by the curtain call, the incident with Erik all but forgotten.

As soon as the curtain fell, the ballet girls clustered around Amy, hugging her and holding her hands.

“Amy, that was incredible!” squealed Majori.

“You did beautifully.” Halette touched Amy’s cheek lightly, grinning.

“That was the most wonderful performance I’ve ever seen,” Isabelle sighed.

Even Rose was elated. “Good job,” she praised Amy. “I suppose I should give your teacher some credit, then.”

Amy laughed breathlessly. “Thank you all so much.”

Suddenly Clara was at her side, tugging on her arm. “Amy, Rose, it’s John! He’s here!”

“What?” Amy let her fried drag her and Rose away from the ballet girls. “Really?”

“Really,” Clara promised, sounding a little terrified. “It’s _definitely_ him.”

The three girls hurried to the backstage door. Waiting there was a tall, oddly handsome man with floppy brown hair, green eyes, a somewhat large chin, and a black hat and suit with a white scarf. He held a bouquet of roses in his hands, and his nervous and excited expression mirrored Clara’s.

“John!” Clara gasped, and he turned toward them. A huge grin broke out over his face.

“Miss Clara!” he said, rushing over to her and kissing the air beside her cheeks. “You were lovely, my dear.”

Amy and Rose exchanged knowing smiles as John all but ignored them, giving Clara an adoring look as he gave her the flowers. There was no question about it: he was definitely smitten with her.

The Englishman turned to them all of a sudden, as if noticing them for the first time. “Oh! Please forgive me. I seem to have forgotten my manners.” He bowed to them, lifting his hat charmingly. “I’m Doctor John Smith, and you are?”

“I’m Rose Tyler, and this is Miss Amelia Pond,” Rose introduced them as they both curtsied.

John’s face lit up again; it seemed he was incapable of going even a few minutes without smiling, and Amy found herself smiling too. “Wonderful to meet you both. Fantastic job tonight, Miss Amelia,” he added.

“Thank you,” she laughed, taking a step back. “It’s good to finally meet you too, Doctor Smith. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I must go find my voice teacher. I expect he’ll want to see me.”

“Goodnight, Amy,” Clara said. Rose echoed her, although she looked a little unhappy that she was being left alone with the two lovebirds.

“Until we meet again, Miss Amelia.” John grinned at her, and she waved as she headed back down the hall.

She had barely turned the first corner when she was stopped in her tracks by a soft whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “ _Brava_ , my dear. You sang like an angel.”

“Erik!” She was delighted, her heart fluttering. “Where are you?”

A new voice spoke from behind her. “Miss Pond?” Frustration washed over her as she turned to look over her shoulder and saw Rory approaching her. “Um, were you talking to someone?”

“No,” she sighed. “I was just looking for my voice teacher. Do you need something?”

Rory looked oddly nervous. “Um… yeah, actually,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you about something, if you have a minute.”

Amy ignored the anxious knot that formed in the pit of her stomach. “Okay.”

The young man let out a breath. “Amelia, I – I love you,” he blurted out, and her eyes widened. He rushed on, “I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’m not going to try to force you to do anything, but… I ask that you would let me court you.”

It was then that Amy realized that Erik could very well still be listening. Flustered, she only managed to stammer, “Rory, I…”

“I’m sorry. I know this is sort of sudden,” Rory apologized.

“No, it’s…” Amy frowned. “I’m sorry, Rory, but I have to say no.”

Rory looked crushed, and she tried in vain not to feel guilty. “May I ask why?” he asked quietly.

Amy bit her lip, trying to find the words. She could lie, she could pretend it was for any reason other than what it truly was, but she didn’t want to. Could she really confess the truth, though? She had never admitted it to anyone, not even to herself. Even now, it felt too soon to speak her true feelings, but Rory was waiting for an answer – and it was possible that Erik was waiting, too.

So softly that she barely heard herself, Amy murmured, “I’m in love with someone else.”

“Oh.” Rory looked disappointed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

She shook her head. “Neither does he,” she whispered. At his shocked look, she flushed. “I should go. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he sighed dejectedly as he watched her hurry off.

Amy practically ran back to her dressing room, blushing wildly. If she knew Erik, he would’ve run off back to his lair before the end of her conversation with Rory. There was no telling how much he’d heard, but if she needed to explain some things to him, then that was what she would do.

She changed out of her costume and washed her face as quickly as possible, pulling on her light blue dressing gown over her nightgown. Leaving her hair unbound, she ran her fingers through it for a moment, but she knew she didn’t have time to do much else.

Amy shook out her hands, trying to steady her breathing as she stood in front of the mirror. Praying Erik wouldn’t be too angry when she found him, she opened the mirror and stepped silently into the tunnel.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two months without an update, I bring you...
> 
> Angst, everybody. 1.4k words of pure angst.
> 
> Have fun.

_Chapter Eleven_

Erik was at war with himself as he paced madly back and forth below the opera house. Rage welled up inside him – rage at the boy for daring to love Amy, rage at Amy for lying to him about the boy’s feelings, rage at himself for being weak and fleeing before he could see what inevitably followed the proposal. Beneath the rage and confusion was a bone-crushing sorrow, but that was one emotion he was doing his best to ignore.

He couldn’t understand _why_ he was so angry. He had realized long ago that no matter what he felt for her, Amy did not belong to him.

The sound of the lake water rippling interrupted his thoughts, and he stopped abruptly. What was Amy doing down here? Shouldn’t she be with Rory?

Narrowing his eyes, Erik lifted his hands to his face. If she had come to taunt him, he would soon show her just how dangerous that was.

~O~

The underground lake was eerily silent, and Amy felt uneasy as she rowed the small boat across it. Usually when Erik was angry, he would let out his fury through music, but the only sound she could hear now was the soft lapping of the lake water.

Once she reached the shore, she stepped warily out of the boat to find his home darker than usual, and totally empty. Her unease grew as she walked further in, her eyes searching the room. “Erik? Erik, where are you?” she called softly.

“Coming to mock me now, mademoiselle?” Erik’s voice came from all around her, and she jumped a little.

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking up.

“I saw you talking to that boy,” he snarled.

Amy scowled. “Yes, and?”

 _“Do you think me a fool, Amelia?”_ Erik’s disembodied voice shouted, and she flinched. It was becoming clear to her that he had missed a good chunk of her talk with Rory.

“Erik, what the hell are you talking about?” she said. “You know, it’s really hard to hold a conversation with you when I can’t hear you.”

There was a long silence, and when Erik spoke again, his voice was dangerously low. “So, you wish to see me, do you? You wish to see the monster?”

Amy’s heart raced with dread. “Erik, I think you’re confused. What are you –” she started, but the sound of footsteps cut her off.

“Come, my dear,” Erik sneered as she turned, trying to find which direction he was coming from. “Look at me and see the monster. Look at me and see the angel of death.”

Then he stepped into the light before her, and she beheld his unmasked face for the first time.

It was truly a gruesome sight. While the left side of his face was unmarred – handsome, even – the right side was painfully deformed. The skin was stretched taut in some places, drooping in others, and she thought she could see bone somewhere near the top of his head. The side of his nose was partially caved in, the corner of his lips was swollen and pulled up, and his cheek was red and ragged. The awful snarl he wore did nothing to improve the horror of his mangled skin.

Instinctively, Amy stumbled backward, a hand pressed to her lips. Fear and pity clenched her heart with icy fingers, forming a lump in her throat that stopped her from screaming. She simply stared at him, stared until her vision blurred.

Erik watched her resentfully as her beautiful hazel eyes widened in terror. The girl recoiled from him, her fingers trembling as she covered her mouth. Tears spilled from her lashes and down her pale cheeks, and she slowly sank to her knees, her eyes never leaving his face.

“Now you see,” he growled, feeling suddenly tired.

Amy gave a little sob, quickly stifled by her hand, but he didn’t miss it.

“What is it you came here to say?” he asked scathingly.

Wiping her face, she looked down and sniffed. “I said no,” she muttered.

He was mystified. “ _What_?”

Amy shook her head, her shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what this says about what you think of me, but I couldn’t ever be with Rory. I thought you would know that.”

When she looked up again, Erik was replacing his mask, and she couldn’t deny that she was relieved. “Why not?” he said quietly.

Her mouth dry, she rose to her feet. “I don’t love him.”

Erik was completely silent. He neither spoke nor moved, but the depth of the emotion flickering in his eyes was perhaps even more terrifying than the sight of his deformed face had been.

A lump formed in her throat again, and she backed away from him. “Goodnight, Erik,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself.

Warily, he took a step back, then turned and walked away. When he was out of her sight, she climbed into the boat and slowly rowed herself back over the lake.

~O~

Although she pretended to be fine, over the next several days Amy’s sleep was often disturbed, and when she did dream, her dreams were dark and confused. Erik’s deformed face floated in and out of the darkness, ever haunting her and making it hard to think about anything else. She worked harder than ever to make up for her often-sleepless nights, and while she never saw Erik, she could feel his presence there constantly, like – well, like a ghost.

Finally, she’d had enough of the dreams. She was overworking herself, barely sleeping for fear of nightmares, and her friends were starting to be able to tell. After one particularly tiring show a week or so after opening night, she made the journey down to Erik’s house, ignoring the fear that assaulted her in the darkness.

His house was empty, but that didn’t deter her. Amy went to the music room, sat at the piano and began to play Erik’s sonata softly, letting the music sooth her.

After what seemed like forever but was really only a few minutes, she heard Erik’s voice behind her. “What are you doing here?”

Amy’s fingers continued to play the keys, but her throat felt oddly closed up and she couldn’t speak for a moment. “I’ve been having nightmares. I didn’t want to sleep.”

Erik came closer to her, sitting on the edge of the bench. “Nightmares about what?”

It was bad enough that her heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or just his presence. Now he was close enough to touch, and she was trying to tell him that she was having terrifying dreams about him. Guilt overtook her, and so she said nothing – but her silence seemed to speak louder than any of her words could.

“You’re having dreams about me and you came _here_?” He sounded annoyed, angry even, and she stopped playing to look at him.

“I thought you could help me,” she started.

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh, turning away from her.

Amy swallowed hard, continuing. “I thought if I saw you, it would help, somehow.”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said. “The sight of me is surely not going to cure your dreams.”

Her cheeks reddened with indignation. “Do you really not want me here?”

Erik stood. “Considering the way you fled from me the last time we interacted, I can’t say that I’m feeling entirely welcoming to you today,” he spat.

Amy was on her feet in an instant. “Maybe I won’t come back here at _all_ , then!”

“Perhaps that would be in your best interest, child,” Erik said scathingly, turning to face her. “After all, my _dear_ –” he spat the word mockingly, his eyes ablaze – “why would you remain here with someone whose face haunts your dreams and causes you such disgust?”

She gritted her teeth, wishing her anger wouldn’t make her tremble. “Erik –”

“Get out of here,” he snapped.

“Erik, stop it! Just listen to me –”

“ _Get out_!” he shouted, taking a step toward her with clenched fists and a scowl contorting his face, and she did the only thing she could think of: she ran.

Amy didn’t relax until she was back in her dressing room with the mirror tightly shut. She collapsed on her bed, her chest heaving with dry sobs and her breath coming in short gasps. She didn’t know how long she laid there listening to the pounding of her heart in her ears, but eventually fatigue dragged her down into the darkness of sleep.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Amy schools Erik, and there is an announcement. Also, flirting.
> 
> -Han

_Chapter Twelve_

"We need to talk."

There she was, in all her flame-haired glory, standing in the middle of Erik's home barely a day later. Her angry glare swept the shadows, searching for him, and he almost flinched when it passed over his concealed form.

Amy had returned to the house under the lake – but why? That was the question on Erik's mind as he debated whether or not to reveal himself to her.

"Erik!" she snapped. "I know you're here. Come out here and talk to me."

Frowning, he ventured a few steps toward her. "What do you want, Amelia?"

There was not a trace of fear in Amy's eyes as she lifted her chin and met his gaze. "You and I need to come to an understanding," she said.

His eyebrows furrowed in a sort of bewildered irritation, and he said nothing.

She rolled her eyes. "Come with me," she instructed, reaching out and grabbing the collar of his shirt.

"Let go of me, Amelia." Erik reached up, intending to pull her hand away, but the moment his fingers brushed her skin he felt a spark, like he shouldn't be touching her at all. So he let his hand drop, glowering.

Amy didn't seem to notice his odd behavior – or if she did, she didn't comment on it. She practically dragged him over to his desk chair, then released his collar, looking at him expectantly. After a moment, he sat, still glaring.

"I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. Don't interrupt," she said sternly.

"As you wish, mademoiselle," he answered with more than a trace of sarcasm.

Amy ran a hand through her hair, starting to pace back and forth in front of him. "Erik, I think it's clear that we have some communication issues. You spied on a private conversation of mine, and it was upsetting to you. As a result, you lashed out at me – you  _hurt_  me. I will not tolerate you treating me like… like you can do whatever you want without consequence. We need to be able to respect each other, or else I can't be around you anymore. That means you can't hurt me – physically or emotionally – control my actions, or get angry and jealous when I talk to people that you don't 'approve' of. In return, I will respect your privacy, and I won't ask questions about your past. Does that sound like a deal?"

Erik stared at her, stunned. He had never been spoken to that way before. It almost felt like she was yelling at him, but the whole time she had been calm and collected (well, as calm as Amy could be). It took him a few moments to process her words, and even longer to determine his own answer.

"Yes," he said finally. "I agree to your terms, Miss Pond."

Amy's shoulders sagged a little. "Okay," she said, nodding. "Well, I can't say I expected you to agree that easily –"

Erik actually chuckled, and she gave him a half-smile.

"I… am sorry," he said after another pause. The words were difficult to get out, as he was not one to apologize often, but he managed them.

Amy pressed her lips together. "I accept your apology," she said quietly.

Honestly, Erik wasn't sure what to do now. Was he supposed to tell her to leave? Give her a lesson as before like nothing had happened? Kiss her?

The former opera ghost stood abruptly, unsettled at the direction his thoughts were taking. "I think it would be best if you leave. Your absence might be noticed by Madame Giry," he said.

She swallowed visibly. "You're right. I'll see you… sometime, I guess." She seemed about to say something else, but decided against it; with a short nod, she went back over to the boat and stepped into it.

Sighing deeply, Erik watched her go. It appeared that his strange relationship with Amy had changed, but whether it was for better or for worse, there was no telling.

~O~

Amy was in love with Erik.

She had spoken it aloud, she had confessed to Rory that she loved someone, and even if Erik had not heard, she had still  _said_ it.

In the wake of everything that had happened that night, Amy had forgotten that she had said anything about it at all. It wasn't until several days after they had seen each other again and fought that she suddenly remembered. As soon as she had a chance, she had slipped away and gone to Erik's house. Her newly realized feelings for him were what had prompted her to remedy things with him, but as she lay in bed that night, she wasn't at all sure that she'd changed anything at all. She worried that it wasn't enough that she loved him, if he didn't love her too.

The next morning, Clara ran up to her, eyes bright with excitement. "Oh, Amy, have you heard?" she asked breathlessly.

"What? Heard what?" she answered, raising an eyebrow.

"We're having a masquerade ball on New Year's Eve!" Clara exclaimed.

Amy's other eyebrow lifted, joining the first. "Did you say a  _masquerade_? As in, a masked ball?" she said.

Clara nodded. "I think it's because of  _him_ ," she said. "You know, because he's been around more lately. It's kind of like they're welcoming him back, yet trying to get him to leave, all at once. Isn't it exciting?"

"… Yeah," Amy said, hesitant. "It's certainly going to be interesting."

A masquerade. She frowned, trying to remember anything she'd heard about the last masquerade the Opera Populaire had held. She remembered Erik had caused some kind of disturbance – probably something that had to do with Christine Daaé – but otherwise, she had no idea.

"What are you going to go as?" Clara questioned, bringing her back to the present.

Amy laughed uncomfortably. "I have no idea. What about you – are you and your Doctor going together?"

Clara beamed, looking down bashfully. "I… I think so."

"I'm happy for you two," Amy said, nudging her friend with a little smile.

Unbidden, a thought entered her mind:  _Erik and I aren't like this._ Shaking her head slightly, she dismissed it. Why should she be giggling and blushing over Erik like a young ballerina over her gentleman friend? He probably wouldn't even attend the ball.

An idea started to form in her head, and her smile grew. "Hey, Clara – I'll talk to you later, okay? I just remembered something I have to do."

~O~

**M. Erik,**

**I would like to invite you to attend the Opera Populaire's New Year's Masquerade Ball on the night of December 31, 1884. If you choose to accept, please let me know as soon as you can.**

**-A. Pond**

**Amelia,**

**I cannot say I expected this. Let me make sure I understand you – _you_ are inviting  _me_ to a  _masked ball_?**

**-Erik**

**M. Erik,**

**Yes, I am inviting you to a masked ball. Are you coming or not?**

**-A. Pond**

**Amelia,**

**Do I need to acquire a costume?**

**-Erik**

**M. Erik,**

**A costume is not needed. Just dress as you always do. Don't be late, or I'll find another escort, my dear M. le Fantôme.**

**-A. Pond**

**Amelia,**

**Oh, you _need_ an escort, do you? Heaven forbid you attend the ball alone. How scandalous would that be?**

**-Erik**

**Post Script – I will do my best to make it in time, my lady.**

**M. Erik,**

**Yes, because the lead soprano of the Opera Populaire should not attend a ball alone. It's improper, didn't you know?**

**Scandalous? Not nearly as scandalous as it will be when I am escorted by the Phantom of the Opera himself. I aim to cause a commotion wherever I can, and I know you enjoy doing the same.**

**-A. Pond**

**Post Script – You had better.**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the short length of the chapters recently. It's all buildup to the masquerade, which will take a bit longer to write but hopefully will be the longest chapter yet.

_Chapter Thirteen_

“This is certainly an… interesting design, mademoiselle,” the seamstress told Amy as she examined the sketch Rose had done of Amy’s gown and mask, clearly trying to be polite in the midst of her confusion. “It will suit your figure quite well, but I am not exactly sure who you are meant to be with this costume.”

Amy smiled. “Take a closer look, Madame,” she suggested.

After a moment of examination, Madame’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “I see. Very clever, Miss Pond,” she said, but Amy couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. “I’ll begin on it right away, and you will be called in for a fitting within the next few days.”

“Thank you,” Amy said, taking one last glance at the dress design and allowing herself a small smile before leaving.

~O~

It was Christmas Eve, a week away from the night of the ball, when Amy was called back for her fitting. The dress was coming along beautifully, she thought, and Rose was there to approve and give suggestions. Amy was quite sure that Madame didn’t like being ordered around by Rose, and Rose was unwavering – the session proved to be very interesting for everyone involved

Not too long afterward, Isabelle appeared, holding a small black box wrapped with a white-and-red ribbon, along with an envelope. “Amy, this was left for you,” she said, holding it out to the taller girl.

“What? Um, thank you,” Amy said dazedly, recognizing Erik’s handwriting on the front of the envelope.

She made her way to an empty corridor, one that was somewhat shadowed, to have a little privacy before opening the envelope. The way the note was written seemed different, somehow – more personal than he had ever written to her before.

**Dear Amelia,**

**I have never had cause to celebrate Christmas before, but I felt I should get you something. I hope you like it.**

**Merry Christmas, Amelia Pond. I look forward to escorting you to the ball in a week’s time.**

**Yours,**

**Erik**

_Yours_. Amy folded the note quickly and returned it to the envelope, almost frightened by the intimate word. Why did Erik like to confuse her so?

Turning her attention to the gift, Amy took a moment to admire the way it was wrapped. She untied the lacy ribbon, running the soft fabric through her fingers briefly. Maybe she could use it to tie her hair back?

She opened the box, a little hesitant. Inside was a golden diamond-shaped pendant on a thin chain of the same color. Amy gasped softly, drawing it out of the box and holding it up in front of her. The charm spun on the chain, light dancing along the edges.

“It’s beautiful,” she said aloud, awestruck. She set the box and envelope on the floor and held the necklace to her throat, fingers struggling to fasten it behind her neck.

Suddenly a pair of hands closed over her own, taking the chain out of her hands. Amy froze, startled, as the figure behind her fastened the necklace and withdrew without a sound, save for a soft sigh that warmed her skin briefly.

Amy turned, but he was gone, leaving no trace behind. She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered that he’d helped her or creeped out that he’d followed her, so she decided to just appreciate the beautiful gift and not complain.

~O~

The masked ball was drawing closer, and as it did, Erik grew increasingly more restless and confused. His reconciliation with Amy had brought on a new side of him – gentler, less controlling. He truly cared about her, and it was terrifying.

Although he itched to know what Amy’s costume would be, Erik restrained himself from going in the seamstress’s office at night. Amy clearly wanted to surprise him, and he wouldn’t ruin that surprise.

(See, there he went again – where was this accursed softness coming from? Why did he care so damn much about what she thought?)

He noticed with some satisfaction that Amy wore her necklace every day. Although she was often asked about it, she gave very little hints at all as to where it came from. This often drew even more attention to the little charm.

“Did it come from the Phantom?” one young ballet girl asked her, giggling.

“Now what gave you that idea, Majori?” Erik could tell that Amy’s smile was a little forced, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

“Because he’s –” Majori began, but Amy quickly covered the blonde’s mouth, glancing around. Wary of being seen, Erik shifted backward slightly, but he continued to watch.

“Shhh,” Amy whispered. “You never know when he might be listening.”

Majori’s blue eyes grew round as Amy released her. “Do you really think he’s…?” she breathed.

Amy looked around again. “Hurry along now, Majori,” she said, patting the younger girl’s shoulder lightly. “You shouldn’t be late for practice.”

Majori scampered off obediently, and Amy sighed, touching her necklace briefly before turning the corner and disappearing from Erik’s sight.

What had the little ballet girl wanted to say? Erik scowled, not liking the implications of what she had begun to tell Amy. He had appeared publicly to his student only once, and even then it was rather private; were his affections for her already that clear to the members of the opera house?

~O~

“Miss Pond?” Rory was approaching her, and Amy bit her lip, trying to avoid his gaze. Things between them had been a little strained since opening night and his rejected confession, and she always tried to avoid him when they weren’t onstage.

“Yes, Monsieur Williams?” Amy tried to smile at him.

Rory looked on edge as well. “I… was wondering if… at the ball, you would allow me a dance?” he asked quietly, a flush on his cheeks.

Unable to hide her surprise, Amy’s brow lifted. “I suppose,” she said, then nodded. “Yes, I’ll dance with you, monsieur.”

He smiled at her, clearly relieved. “Thank you, Miss Pond,” he said, ducking his head and hurrying away.

Rose sidled up to her a moment later, wearing a smirk. “I saw that,” she teased.

“There was nothing to see,” Amy sighed. “He requested I save him a dance at the ball, and I agreed. That’s it.”

Rose grinned. “Good to see you two finally getting past whatever happened,” she said over her shoulder as she left.

Pushing back a strand of hair, Amy rolled her eyes. Her friend was probably off to tell Clara that she and Rory had “made up”, and rumors would begin to spread. At this rate she was going to develop a reputation.

_Why can’t things just be simple?_


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, this is the chapter you've all been waiting for - the masquerade. The ball itself lasts all of this chapter and at least part of the next one, but the events that take place will never be forgotten. ;)

_Chapter Fourteen_

December 31, while cold, was a beautiful day. The Opera Populaire was full of activity, stagehands and ballet girls and singers everywhere as they prepared the opera house for the masquerade.

Rose was dressed as the night sky in a dark blue gown studded with silver gems, along with a matching mask adorned with white feathers. Clara’s dress was maroon and slightly tattered, paired with a black lacy mask and a brownish shawl, and her dark hair fell mostly loose around her shoulders. She said she was dressed as a barmaid, though why, Amy had no idea.

Rory’s costume was fairly modest – he was dressed as a soldier in a black suit with gold and red embellishments. He actually looked quite handsome, Amy thought, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

Halette was a princess in a deep pink gown and a rose-colored mask, a glittering silver tiara on her dark head of curls; Majori was a butterfly in vibrant orange and black, her delicate mask shaped exactly like wings; and Isabelle had gotten made a replica of Belle’s yellow ball gown, which with her gold mask made her tanned skin glow.

Upon John’s arrival, they saw that he wore a velvet waistcoat with brown plaid trousers, a somewhat ragged coat, and a top hat. “Who are you supposed to be?” Rose asked him curiously.

He beamed, straightening his jacket. “Well, you see, there’s a fairytale – one of my favorites, actually – about a man who lives on a cloud and chases away children’s nightmares. I thought it was perfect for a ball at a theater.”

Rose was there to help Amy into her costume, which had turned out truly magnificent. “Madame, you’ve outdone yourself,” Amy complimented the seamstress, who gave her perhaps her most genuine smile yet.

Soon after, the guests began to arrive, and the cast and crew of the Opera Populaire filtered out into the ballroom. Amy kept her eyes open, constantly searching for Erik in the growing crowd, but his tall figure was nowhere to be seen.

“Amelia?” John came up to her, touching her shoulder gently. “Are you all right? You look lovely, by the way,” he added, tilting his head.

She laughed, flustered. “Thank you, monsieur. Yes, I’m fine. Just… looking for someone.”

John smiled at her. “I hope you find them,” he said sincerely, then headed cheerfully away to find Clara.

Meg Giry approached her next, dressed as a shepherdess and trailing Isabelle, Majori, and Halette. “Amy, you look incredible!” she gushed. “I love your mask!”

Amy tried to smile. “Thank you, Meg,” she said. “Is everyone still arriving?”

“Uh…” Meg peered around the room. “No, I think everyone’s here by now.”

Spirits sinking, Amy nodded. “Oh,” she said softly. Then, as an afterthought, she said, “All four of you look wonderful as well.”

The ballerinas all blushed and giggled, thanking her and complimenting her as well. They moved away, gazing around the ballroom in awe and excitement and murmuring to each other.

Barely a minute later, Monsieur Andre’s voice echoed through the ballroom, attracting the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” he called. “Welcome, all, to the Opera Populaire’s first masquerade since the theater’s reopening two years ago.”

Applause filtered throughout the room, and Monsieur Andre paused momentarily. “Thank you all for attending tonight. Monsieur Firmin and I are pleased to be hosting this ball, as a toast to the New Year. Enjoy the ball!”

Amy’s heart was aching, and her stomach churned with nerves. “I told him, I _specifically_ told him not to be late,” she breathed aloud, fighting back angry tears.

“M-Miss… Amy?” Rory was beside her, clearing his throat. “May I claim the first dance?”

Blinking rapidly, Amy nodded. “You may,” she said, holding out her hand for him to take so he could lead her to the center of the floor.

The music began, and she and Rory commenced the dance. He wasn’t bad, actually, but it was clear he was extremely nervous. His hands trembled, some of his turns were clumsy, and he even tripped occasionally.

“Rory,” Amy said gently, feeling a rush of pity. “Please don’t be so nervous.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his face red.

This was quite possibly the most awkward dance ever. Amy was tempted to pull out, but she _had_ promised Rory this dance. Fortunately, the dance ended rather soon after, and Amy’s embarrassment subsided.

Rory cleared his throat again. “May I have another dance?” he asked.

“I…” Amy began to stammer out an excuse, trying to be polite, but a smooth voice cut her off.

“Actually, I believe mademoiselle has promised _me_ the next dance.”

~O~

Yes, Erik was late. And he didn’t even really have a good excuse for it, either.

 _You_ live _in the opera house,_ he admonished himself bitterly, hurrying through the empty hallways as the music of the first dance echoed softly in his ears. He had been composing a song and lost track of the time, but he knew that was a poor reason. He should’ve been on time.

Amy was going to kill him.

Erik slipped into the ballroom as the end of the song neared. People stared, probably at his recognizable mask, but for once in his life he didn’t care. He searched the sea of dancing people anxiously, looking for a flash of red hair or golden eyes.

Then he saw her, and his breath was stolen away.

Amy was dressed in a strapless, shimmering, pure white gown, fitted in the bodice but with a full skirt that swept the floor. Her bright red hair spilled over her pale shoulders, making her skin look nearly the same color as the dress in contrast. A black ribbon encircled her waist, tied in a neat bow at her back. The golden necklace he’d gotten her dangled around her neck, sparkling in the light from the chandeliers. As she completed a twirl, Erik caught a glimpse of white flat slippers on her feet. Her mask, however, was the most startling part of the costume: black as night, made of porcelain, and covering the left side of her face. _Only_ the left side of her face.

It was like the opposite half of his mask.

The music came to a stop, and Erik was moving again, striding towards Amy and her partner. As he got closer, he heard the boy request another dance.

“Actually, I believe mademoiselle has promised _me_ the next dance,” Erik said coolly, reaching the pair.

Amy spun to face him, her mouth falling open. “You – you’re late,” she said.

Erik took her slim hand in his and kissed it softly. “I apologize, mademoiselle.”

Rory was staring at him rather blatantly, and Amy coughed. “Monsieur Williams, this is Monsieur Erik, my escort. Monsieur Erik, this is Monsieur Rory Williams, the leading tenor.”

“Pleasure,” Rory said, not sounding very pleased.

“Indeed.” Erik nodded to the young man, then turned to Amy. “Now, my dear, shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the floor.

The next dance was already beginning, and Erik bowed as Amy curtsied. He then let her hand slip into his and led her into the dance, his eyes focused on her alone.

She blushed. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“You are surely the most beautiful woman in attendance at this masquerade,” he said.

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, and her blush darkened. “I see you like my costume, then,” she said.

Erik took a moment to touch her mask that mirrored his own. “I cannot say I understand the reasoning behind your idea, but yes, I do very much like it.”

“You look very nice yourself,” Amy said as he spun her. “But then, you always do.”

“As do you.” The compliment slipped easily off his tongue, earning a smile from the young singer.

A few moments passed before she spoke again, her expression hardening. “So, you were late.”

Erik cringed. “Yes,” he said slowly.

She gave him a sharp look. “Why?”

“I did not realize the time. Again, I apologize,” he said. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

Amy regarded him for a moment, then her gaze softened. “All right,” she said, her lips curving. “But just this once.”

Erik gave her the barest hint of a smile in return. “You have already forgiven me more times than I deserve, Amelia.”

As he pulled her in from another twirl, he caught the touch of a flush on her cheek, and he smiled.

~O~

“Amy!” Clara hurried up to her at the refreshments table, trailing John behind her. “Who is that man you’ve been dancing with?”

“The Phantom?” Amy tried to keep her tone neutral, but a smirk crept onto her face nonetheless. “What about him?”

Clara gasped. “So it really is him?”

“Of course it is.” Amy shrugged.

John’s eyes brightened in excitement. “So it’s true! I’ve heard the stories, but I never thought –”

“What stories, monsieur?” Erik asked calmly, stepping up beside Amy and slipping an arm around her waist as though he’d been doing it for years. In reality, it made her blush fiercely – but neither Clara nor John seemed to notice.

“All kinds of stories,” John answered, beaming with delight. “I’m Doctor John Smith. It’s a pleasure to meet you, monsieur…?”

Erik seemed rather baffled by John’s enthusiasm. “Erik,” he said after a moment, withdrawing his arm from around Amy’s waist to shake John’s outstretched hand.

Clara, too, was clearly fascinated by Erik – or rather, his relationship with Amy. “So you two are…” she began, her eyes gleaming in a way Amy didn’t like.

“He’s my escort,” Amy said firmly.

“Oh, indeed.” Clara’s mischievous grin widened, and abruptly she turned, tugging on John’s arm. “Come along, dear, we should be off.”

Erik – who had not placed his arm around Amy again, she noticed – blinked. “Your friends are certainly...”

Shaking her head, Amy winced. “They’re something,” she agreed, sighing.

A chuckle slipped from Erik’s lips, and she allowed herself to smile. He glanced at her, then a slight frown marred his face.

“What?” Amy raised an eyebrow.

He reached up, gently brushing a stray curl away from her cheek. Her pulse skyrocketed at the simple action, and the air around them crackled with tension suddenly.

Erik took her hands slowly, his eyes lingering on her face. Silently, he led her out into the center of the ballroom again just in time for the next dance.

The music was slower this time – a waltz. Erik’s hand on the small of her back drew her close to him, and her arm fell around his shoulders like it belonged there. His other hand grasped hers, fingers wrapping around hers securely.

“Have I mentioned that you’re a very good dancer?” Amy was slightly breathless, light-headed with exhilaration.

“Thank you. I taught myself.” He turned her slowly, then drew her close again, almost closer than before.

Amy’s eyes lifted to meet his. “Really?” she murmured. She was in a dreamlike state, not feeling quite real. It was as though she was floating above the stars.

He made a small noise of affirmation. Was it her imagination, or was he leaning closer to her?

The music softened to an ending all too soon, and Amy bent her knees in a curtsy to Erik as he bowed. He stayed a few inches distant from her, and though she wanted nothing more to be in his arms again, she did the same.

A chime echoed through the room, and people began to chatter excitedly, the dancing halted for the moment. Amy stepped closer to Erik now, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” he asked her over the sound of the second chime.

“It’s midnight,” she said, her mouth dry. “Time for the unmasking.”

Erik cursed, a panicked look overtaking his face. “I have to go,” he said, turning away. “I can’t –”

As Erik began to push through the crowd, desperately trying to escape, Amy followed him. “Wait!” she called, reaching for him.

She finally caught up to him at the edge of the ballroom, in a somewhat secluded area, just as the last chime sounded. She pulled off her mask and, in one movement, grasped his shoulder, turned him toward her, and kissed him.

All around them, other people were talking and possibly doing the same as she was, but Amy’s attention was solely on Erik. One of her hands still held her mask, but the other slid to the back of his neck, curling around his collar. The feeling of his lips on hers, warm and surprisingly soft, was dizzying, and she broke away after a few seconds.

He looked more shocked than she’d ever seen him, wide-eyed with his lips parted. For a moment they just stared at each other, breathing, taking in the reality of what she had done.

Finally, Amy swallowed hard, glancing away. “Sorry,” she said, even though she wasn’t, not really. “It’s a… tradition, you know, for New Year’s –”

Erik cupped her face in his hands, pressing his mouth to hers again and cutting her words off. Amy’s arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. His mask, cold and smooth, brushed against her cheek, but she didn’t mind. She was where she was meant to be at last.

Abruptly, he pulled back, but his thumb brushed over her cheek for a moment before he pulled his hands away. She waited, hesitant, vulnerable, as he stepped a pace away and stood with his fingers pressed to his lips in almost reverence.

“I must go. I will see you tomorrow, I promise,” he said, his voice rough.

Clutching her mask in both hands, Amy watched him leave, feeling oddly bereft with a sense of abandonment that she was unable to shake.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wanted this chapter to be a lot longer, but um. Here you go.
> 
> PLOT TWISTS.

_Chapter Fifteen_

“Miss Pond?” Monsieur Firmin’s voice broke into Amy’s thoughts, and she turned to see the shorter man hurrying up to her. “Miss Pond, there is someone I would like you to meet,” he said with a smile.

Amy smiled back, trying to push thoughts Erik out of her mind. “Lead the way, monsieur,” she said.

When they reached the other side of the ballroom, though, it became quite impossible to think of anyone else.

The young woman standing there was beautiful in an angelic sort of way, with perfect pale skin, sea-green eyes, and soft brown curls pinned up to her head. She was wearing a deep violet and blue gown that contrasted well with her ivory skin, and the smile on her pink lips was sweet and shy, almost tentative.

Amy recognized her immediately. She had seen that face before – not in person, but hundreds of times, drawn on parchment and canvas in delicate strokes of ink.

“Miss Pond, may I introduce the Vicomtesse Christine de Chagny,” Monsieur Firmin said proudly. “Madame la Vicomtesse, this is Miss Amelia Pond, our leading soprano.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Amy said, curtsying and praying her voice wouldn’t shake.

“I’m honored to meet you as well, mademoiselle,” the young Vicomtesse replied with a smile that seemed utterly genuine, curtsying to her in return. A moment later, however, that smile became slightly strained.

Before Amy could ask if she was all right, a handsome young blond man came up beside Christine. “Hello, my dear,” he said, giving her a charming grin. “And who is this young lady?” he added, noticing Amy.

“I’m Amelia Pond,” Amy said, dipping into another shallow curtsy. “The new leading soprano.”

The man took Amy’s hand and kissed it politely. “I am the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny,” he said.

_So this is Christine’s husband,_ Amy thought, giving him a quick once-over. _The one she left Erik for._

Christine said something in Raoul’s ear, and his expression shifted. “Why don’t you ladies come with me?” he said briskly, placing one hand on Amy’s back between her shoulder blades and beginning to walk toward a side hallway. Amy had no choice but to stumble along with him, pretending not to be confused. Christine followed close behind, glancing nervously around the ballroom every few seconds.

Raoul led Amy and Christine into a small room that looked something like a closet, then closed the door after they were both inside, folding his arms and leaning against the door.

“What’s going on?” Amy copied Raoul’s crossed arms, scowling at the Vicomte and his wife. “What do you want with me?”

“Why don’t you start with telling us about that mask?” Raoul said coolly.

She started, glancing down at the black half-mask still in her hand. “This? It was part of my costume,” she said.

“What exactly _is_ your costume?” he asked, still calm and collected.

Amy stared at him, then looked away. “I’m the Phantom,” she said, trying to keep her tone soft. “I’m sure you’ve heard that he’s returned.”

Christine’s eyes went wide. “We heard that there was a _murder_ ,” she said. “Miss Pond, you must stay away from him –”

“He didn’t _kill_ Ashtyn!” Amy exploded, making Christine jump. Fierce, Amy carried on, “He’s changed. I know neither of you will believe it, but he _has_.”

“If _he_ didn’t kill the girl, then who did?” Raoul’s voice carried more than a touch of ice now.

Amy lifted her chin. “It was an accident,” she said stonily.

Raoul glared at her. “You don’t know, do you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“No, I don’t – but it’s better than blaming an innocent man!”

Quickly, Christine crossed the small space, reaching out with trembling hands to grasp Amy’s shoulders. “Please, Miss Pond, you mustn’t believe his lies,” she breathed, her green eyes wild with fear and concern. “You may believe he is innocent, but it’s all a trick. If you’d seen his face…” She trailed off with a shudder.

Amy had heard enough. “Actually, I _have_ seen him,” she said stiffly, and Christine drew back as though she’d been burned. “And I daresay I love him more than you ever could.”

“Miss Pond, you –” Raoul began, but Amy gave him a look that stopped the words in his mouth. She walked purposefully over to where he still stood against the door and met his eyes evenly.

“You have no right to tell me what to do or who to love,” she said clearly, then put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him away from the door. “Good evening, Monsieur le Vicomte, Madame la Vicomtesse.”

Then she left the room, shutting the door firmly on an astonished Raoul and Christine.

~O~

Amy found herself struggling to enjoy the remainder of the night. With Erik gone and Raoul de Chagny glaring at her every time she came remotely close to him, she was finding little to do that was actually entertaining. She considered sneaking away to find Erik, but she figured he wanted to be alone, and her presence would most likely not be a welcome one.

Eventually, she found herself hovering around Rose, who seemed more than happy to spend time with her. Amy guessed that she was secretly a little relieved about Erik’s absence, what with her lingering distrust of him, but neither young woman commented on it.

Perhaps an hour or so later, when the ball was drawing to a close, John gathered the remaining people’s attention by standing at the top of the ballroom steps and calling out, “Would everyone mind listening to me for just a moment? It won’t take long, I promise.”

Amy and Rose exchanged bewildered looks. “What is he doing?” Amy whispered.

“Beats me.” Rose shrugged.

John looked around the room, a little smile on his face even as he adjusted his bow tie with charming nervousness. “I’ve enjoyed this ball very much,” he said. “I’ve met new friends and had some wonderful conversations. Tonight has been perfect – well, I should say _almost_ perfect. There’s just one thing that could make it even better.”

He descended the steps to where Clara stood, staring, at the bottom. Beaming shyly, he took both her small hands in his.

“Clara Oswald, I love you,” he said, and Amy was close enough to see her cheeks turn red. “I have always loved you, since the day we met. So…” He lowered himself to one knee, pulling a small red box out of his coat pocket and holding it up, opening it to reveal a glittering red-and-gold ring. “Will you marry me, Clara?”

Clara’s eyes shone with joyful tears. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you,” she said, and he laughed, sliding the ring onto her finger.

Amy was clapping almost before she realized it, her own vision a little blurry (though she’d never admit it to anyone). Rose joined her, and soon the whole ballroom was filled with the sound of applause.

As it filtered out, Amy went up to the new couple, trying not to grin too smugly. Clara was frantically trying to dry her tears without smudging her makeup, and John was gazing at her adoringly.

“Congratulations!” Amy exclaimed, laughing a little.

Clara gave her a watery smile. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, if only I could stop this makeup from running –”

“I think you look perfect anyway,” John said, and Clara smiled broadly, looking like she was about to start crying again.

“All right, I’ll leave you two alone,” Amy chuckled. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thank you, Miss Pond,” John said with a grin.

She patted his shoulder. “It’s Amy,” she said, then stepped away to let them be congratulated by the others.

Making her way through the thinning crowd, Amy realized that this was the perfect time to get out. The stress and excitement of the night was finally catching up to her, and she could feel her eyelids getting heavier as the minutes passed.

Just as Amy was about to slip out of the ballroom, someone grabbed her arm. She turned, surprised and prepared to question the owner of the hand, and was met by the fiery blue gaze of Raoul.

“Remember the warning,” he said lowly, gripping her arm tightly. “You should stay away from _him_. He will destroy you, Miss Pond.”

Amy yanked her arm away from him. “I heard you loud and clear the first time,” she growled.

“I’m only trying to protect you,” Raoul told her, looking suddenly defeated.

Amy couldn’t take the pity in his eyes. Pride stinging and cheeks flaming, she turned away, tossing one final goodbye over her shoulder. “I can protect myself. Goodnight, Monsieur le Vicomte.”


	16. author's note

**So... it's been a little over a year since I last updated this story, and since then, I've gotten loads of comments and requests to continue it. It really means so much to me that so many people have enjoyed this, but I just don't know if I have the ability to continue it. It's been so long, and my writing has changed so much that this story, as it is, isn't something I can continue.**

**But that doesn't mean I want to be done with it. I've thought about it a lot, and I wanted to ask your opinions on this.**

**What would you guys think if I started over and rewrote the whole story?**

**Please leave a comment and let me know what you all think. And thank you so much for supporting Trapdoor.**

**-Han**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [trapdoor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7134419) by [pondify](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pondify/pseuds/pondify)




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